


And There You Were

by M_A_C



Category: Charmed, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 114,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_A_C/pseuds/M_A_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charmed!Teen Wolf AU-cross: After the nogestine is expelled from Stiles's mind, it triggered the reversal of a binding curse that was placed on him after he was born. HIs mother, Claudia Stilinski, was a witch. And a powerful one at that, too, yet after marrying John Stilinski, she stripped herself of her powers to ensure her family's secret would be buried and for the chance at a normal life. When Stiles was born, as a precaution, she bound whatever powers he would have. Now with the nogestine gone, and the binding along with it, he is left to discover his birthright.<br/>Slow-build romance (and heartache) between Mama McCall and Papa Stilinski.<br/>Later chapters will be marked with MATURE AUDIENCE<br/>--SPOILER:: later main character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**_AN://_** Shout out to redshinyapple for the helpful comment. Hopefully the new edit will help clear up some confusion. This is a Stilinski family story; however THIS IS THE PORLOGUE so do not worry. You did click on the right story if you read the summery. Any response, positive or negative, is appreciated.

Prologue

The cool marble hallway of the courthouse was unnervingly silent save the nervous pen-clicking of Melissa McCall. She was sitting on the edge of the wooden bench, hunched over with her forearms resting on her knees. She clicked her pen with one hand and chewed the nails on her other while she continued to wait for Judge McArthur to see her.

To anyone who would happen to walk by, they would probably think Melissa was going through detox, she looked so bad. She was nearing the end of a hectic forty-eight hour shift at the hospital and was running on watered down caffeine and fumes when she got the call from the social worker. She hadn't expected them to call her until next week.

Getting her staff to cover the remaining hours of her shift, Melissa threw her hair into a sloppy bun, pulled on her grey zip-up, and violated a few traffic laws to get to the courthouse. She jogged up the stone steps as she called the high school to get Scott and Isaac checked out. It took them nearly half an hour to get here and that’s when the unbridled nervousness and fear swallowed Melissa.

Now, it was just Scott and Melissa on the bench.

“Mom, will you please stop that,” Scott groaned. He slouched lazily against the back of the bench, his head rubbing the cool marble walls. Scott has never, in his life, experienced this amount of boredom.

“Sorry, sweetie.” Melissa put the pen in the breast pocket of her scrubs. To keep from playing with it again she rubbed her hands together.

“How long has he been in there?” Scott motioned to the judge’s heavy, wooden door in front of them.

Melissa looked down at her watch. “Almost an hour.”

“How long can this take!” Scott sighed. “I thought you guys just had to sign some papers and then we could go home.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Scott. These things take time. I’m surprised that we’re almost done.”

“Thank God, because your nerves are killing me.” Scott leaned forward on the bench to take his mom’s jittery hand.

“Sorry,” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m just too excited to stay still.”

The judge's door opened. Clarissa Mather, the social worker on their case, stepped into the hallway. She was a plump, elderly woman in her early sixties with a warm, motherly eyes covered by wire-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.

“Hey there, Scott,” Clarissa waved.

“Hi, Mrs. Mather.”

“We’re ready for you, Melissa.” Clarissa nodded her head to the judge’s office behind her.

She walked back inside, leaving the door opened. Melissa could see Isaac sitting in one of the leather chairs winging the front judge’s desk. He was staring at his hands, fiddling with one of his many scarves. Melissa began to worry as she got to her feet.

“Wish me luck?”

Scott got to his feet and hugged his mom. He kissed her cheek before stepping back. “You've got this, mom.”

Melissa took a moment to collect herself outside the door. When she felt she was emotionally prepared, she walked in and shut the door behind her. This was the first time she had ever been inside the judge’s office. To her, it seemed to have been cut straight out of an episode of Law and Order – dark wood paneling everywhere, a bottle of scotch and a couple of low-ball glasses by the white curtained window, extensive legal texts filling the shelf space behind the judge’s desk. There were a few personal mementos on the desk itself, but nothing that stood out.

Judge Doug McArthur was a heavy set man with wisps of his remaining blonde hair combed over his head in an attempt to hide the inevitable. He had beady black eyes, a red face, and a chin that seemed to flow right into his neck. He reminded Melissa of Dudley Dursley, the mean cousin from the Harry Potter series she used to read to Scott.

Given what Melissa knows now, J.K Rowling might have been on to something.

“Mrs. McCall,” Judge McArthur held out his hand.

“Your honor,” Melissa put on her best smile. When she finished shaking his hand, she had to resist the urge to wipe it on her scrubs.

“Please,” Judge McArthur gestured to the wing chair beside Isaac. Clarissa sat down in a fold-able chair beside Judge McArthur’s desk. Melissa noticed there was a few folders in her lap.

“You okay?” Melissa leaned over and asked Isaac quietly. He nodded silently. She looked back to Judge McArthur with a worried expression on her face.

“We’re been discussing his previous living situation before moving in with you and your son.” Judge McArthur stated matter-of-factly. He patted the open file on his desk. “I’d like to briefly go over it again now that you’re in the room. Let us know if Mr. Lahey has left anything out.”

“Okay,” Melissa nodded. As Judge McArthur cleared his throat and began to read from the file, Melissa reached over and squeezed Isaac’s hand. He squeezed back.

“Mr. Lahey has lived with you and your son, Scott, for roughly six months. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Prior to that, Mr. Lahey lived with his father. Mr. Lahey, the elder, was abusive towards Mr. Lahey, the younger, both physically, mentally, and verbally. Mr. Lahey, the elder, has even gone as far as locking Mr. Lahey, the younger, in a casket-like fridge.” Judge McArthur glanced up. “When Mr. Lahey, the elder, was killed by a wild animal, Mr. Lahey, the younger-”

“Please,” Melissa interrupted. “Please, just call him Isaac.”

“Alright…Isaac.” He continued to read. “When Mr. Lahey, the elder, was killed by a wild animal, the police assumed that Mr. La-,” McArthur glanced up, “that Isaac was responsible. It did not help that Isaac had run away. During that time, Isaac lived with a friend…Derek Hale?”

“That’s correct,” Melissa nodded.

“So far so good. After you were cleared, Isaac, you returned to school but continued to live with Mr. Hale. I’m sad to read here,” Judge McArthur tapped a copy of Isaac’s transcripts from last year, “that your grades dropped significantly.”

“Well, ah,” Isaac shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “When I was living with Derek, I-I wasn't really focused on school. I mean, we had other…stuff going on.”

“Two other teenagers were living with Mr. Hale at the same time you were, Isaac? One Erica Reyes and…Vernon Boyd.” Judge McArthur looked up and Isaac nodded. “They, too, were runaways, weren't they?” Isaac nodded again. “Where are Ms. Reyes and Mr. Boyd now, Isaac?”

“They’re dead, sir,” Isaac’s voice dropped. He lowered his gaze and began to fiddle with his scarf again. Melissa squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Could it be because they were focused on this “other stuff” Mr. Hale was involved in?”

Isaac didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what you’re getting at here.” Melissa said.

“What I’m “getting at”, Mrs. McCall,” Judge McArthur flipped to another page in his file, “is that since moving in with you six months ago, Isaac’s grades have improved substantially; exceeding those when he lived with his father.” Judge McArthur closed his file. “I am proving that you have made a positive impact on this young man. You have turned his life around, gotten him on the straight and narrow, and I will be expecting that you keep him that way.”

Melissa couldn't believe what she just heard. She could feel her hand tightening on Isaac’s, but she also felt numb. The best kind of numb.

“So…so you’re saying-”

“He’s saying, dear,” Clarissa smiled, handing Melissa a file and two black pens, “that he’s all yours.”

Melissa has come to think and care for Isaac as a son, giving his as much love and support as she does Scott; yet now as she held the official adoption papers in her hands, it felt real. She smiled over at Isaac and handed him a pen.

She signed the papers in several places, taking care to not let her eagerness screw up her penmanship. She blew on her signatures to dry them off before handing the folder to Isaac. He was about to sign his name, his pen hovering over the paper, when he suddenly stopped.

He looked up at Melissa with a mixture of hope that carefully concealed his fear of her answer. “Would it be okay if I signed it ‘McCall’?”

Melissa could feel her eyes watering up. Her chest was already feeling heavy. Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded her head. Clarissa pulled another file, a thin one this time, from her briefcase.

“I had a feeling you might ask.”

Isaac opened the file and saw the legal papers that would allow him to change his name.


	2. Chapter 1

 

 

_**AN://** _ Sorry for the long update wait. I wanted to wait for the season finale to get everything in. It’s a bit long, so I hope you enjoy.

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

Stiles Stilinski starred intensely at the blue toaster in front of him, trying to force the delicious pastry to cook faster, when his back pocket began to vibrate. Without breaking eye contact, he answered the phone.

“ _Mission accomplished,”_ Scott said. Stiles could practically hear the Cheshire cat grin. _“Phase two is a go.”_

“Copy that. Parental unit running interference?”

_“Scarf shopping. Won’t be back for at least an hour.”_

“Plenty of time. Half the pack is already at your place setting up.”

_“I’m leaving the courthouse now.”_ Other the other side of the line, Stiles could hear the traffic. _“Oh, before I forget, Isaac’s last name is McCall now_.”

“Seriously? I thought you got to keep your name when you’re adopted.”

“ _You can, but Isaac asked if he could change his_.”

“Wow, now we’ve got three McCall’s. What is the world coming to?”

_“Four if you count my dad.”_

“No one does, Scott.”

“ _True,”_ Scott verbally shrugged. “ _Hey, is your car out of the shop yet or do you need me to pick you up?”_

“I’m riding over with the Sheriff once he gets back from the supply run.”

“ _Alright. See ya.”_

“Yep.” Stiles glanced down at his screen to end the call. Suddenly the pastry popped, causing him jump and drop his phone. He glared at the toaster. “Every time!”

“Don’t you know better by now not to have a staring contest with that thing?” Sheriff John Stilinski came through the back door in the kitchen.

“You’d think,” Stiles mumbled under his breath. With his index finger and thumb, he carefully pulled the pop-tarts out of the toaster. He put them on the counter before hopping up there himself.

“Has Scott or Melissa called yet?” John asked as he took off his heavy green jacket, draping it around a chair.

“Yeah,” Stiles took a bite of his pop-tart. Cherry flavored. “Adoption papers final. Oh, and get this, Isaac changed his last name to McCall.”

“Can’t blame him.” John rubbed his hands together. “Alright, hurry up and get dressed before the ice cream melts in the trunk. And Lydia did saw sherbet, right?”

Stiles looked down at himself. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a green dinosaur in the center that had purple spikes on it; day old jeans jeans; and black high tops. Stiles looked at his father.

“Are you wearing that?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” John looked down at his uniform to see if he had a coffee stain.

“You always wear that, dad. It almost the only thing you wear.”

“Stiles, I just got off work.” John motioned to the stairs in the other room. “Go upstairs and get dressed.”

“After you,” Stiles hopped off the counter, pop-tart in one hand while the other was held out in front of him.

“Stiles-”

“Dad, I’m not letting you go to a party as a cop. Maybe to a sexy Halloween party, but not to an adoption party. Change out of Sheriff Stilinski, put on some deodorant, and maybe comb your hair a bit.” Stiles tried to touch John’s hair, but John batted Stiles’ hand away. John turned and walked to the steps.

A couple minutes later, John walked into the kitchen wearing a burgundy Henley, jeans, and boots. Stiles was even impressed he managed to shave. John pointed his keys at Stiles.

“I thought I told you to change?”

“I honestly thought you meant it as a suggestion, so I deflected and focused on you. But hey! Look how nice you look.” Stiles spun around and walked out the door. “Okay, let’s go.”  
~~~//~~

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

The stress everyone went through to throw a decent ‘congratulations-you-got-adopted’ party before the originally planned date was well deserved when Isaac walked through the front door.

All the lights were turned off so it would appear as if no one was home when Melissa and Isaac got back. Thanks to something herbal Dr. Deaton whipped up and sprayed around the front porch and entry hallway, Isaac wouldn’t be able to pick up everyone’s scent.

Isaac was the first to walk through the door. When he did, he nearly had a heart attack. There were gold, blue, and a pair of red eyes shining out of the darkness. Isaac dropped his shopping bag, crouched down, his arm stiff behind him to keep Melissa back, and prepared himself for an attack.

Melissa flipped on the light switch, signaling everyone to pop their confetti poppers and yell, “SURPRISE”.

Isaac rocked back on his heels, raking his hand through his curls. “I could have killed you!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Derek smirked. He picked up a handful of confetti off the ground and sprinkled it over Isaac’s head.

Scott held out his hand. “Welcome home…Brother.”

Isaac grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear as he grabbed Scott’s arm and let him pull him up. Melissa leaned quietly against the doorway, watching her sons and the other misfits she’s unofficially adopted. Since nearly all the supernatural teens, werewolf or other, accepted Scott as their pack leader, they were all familiar regulars at the McCall house.

More often than not, Melissa would come home and find at least one of the pack members in the house – playing video games, doing homework, eating food, or sleeping. Her most shocking, and secretly pleasing, moment happened when she slept in on a Sunday afternoon and woke up to Jackson, Isaac, Scott, and Malia doing the lawn work and fixing the outside up.

So when Melissa says “unofficial adopted”, she’s playing mother figure and guardian to a couple of teenagers and an extremely sour wolf.

Isaac was making his rounds, accepting hugs and sarcastic banter from his friends. Even John Stilinski, who was standing towards the back of the group with beer in hand, embraced Isaac warmly. Scott and Stiles tagged teamed him – Scott pulling Isaac into a headlock and giving him a noogie, while Stiles feverishly tickled Isaac’s sides. Isaac was gasping for air in between laughs when Lydia came out of nowhere and strategically poked Stiles’ tickle spots. He made a noise similar to a pterodactyl and let go of Isaac.

After Lydia’s hug was Kira, Scott’s now official girlfriend, then Malia.

Although Isaac had a well-deserved reservation about his new pack mate, he’s come to accept her for the loyalty she’s shown Scott. They exchanged hand-shakes and smiles before stepping back to give the next person room – Jackson Whittemore.

Jackson Whittemore, human turned Kanima turned werewolf, hopped on the first flight back to California after Lydia called him about Alison’s death. It was an undisputed fact that Jackson was an asshole, but he did care about Alison. He wasn’t planning to stay after the funeral, but Scott asked him if he would join the pack. Beacon Hills was his home, and, if Jackson would like, the pack could become his family.

When Derek walked up, it seemed like everyone has backed up to give him some room.

It’s been no secret that not everyone trusts Derek at times, but Isaac can never forget that Derek is the one that turned him. When he asked for the bite, Derek was the one to give it to him and Isaac will always be grateful to him for that. Once, Isaac would have followed Derek everywhere, even to the grave. Isaac’s most endearing quality is the loyalty his shows his true family.

So when Derek threw Isaac out on the street, forcing him to turn away from Derek and towards Scott, Isaac felt deepest of betrayals. It was only later that Derek explained his motivation behind that – fear. After Boyd and Erica, Derek knew he could no longer protect his pack…his chosen family, but he knew Scott could. In order to save Isaac, he had to shatter his loyalty.

And seeing Isaac here, safe and with a family that could provide for and protect him, Derek knew he had made the right call for once, no matter how much it pained him. t. Instead, he swatted the hand away and folded Derek into a hug. It took a moment before Derek hugged him back.

With the congratulations and sappy feelings aside, the party began: loud music, video games, pool hustling, pizza and Mac n’ Cheese. Kira and Scott picked music while Stiles and Lydia bickered over how to build a pool table on the kitchen table. Derek broke up the argument by beginning to duct-tape pizza-boxes as barriers around the edge of the table, adding six red Solo cups for the pockets.

Lydia, as it turned out, was quite the hustler. Even though they were playing with Ping-Pong balls and metal chop-sticks, she swept the table clear nearly every round. Malia tried taking her on, but she ended up losing twenty bucks. Jackson wolfed down an entire box of pizza as he mapped out a way of finally beating Lydia in pool. Derek, Scott, and Isaac switch between Mario Karts and Assassin’s Creed on the gaming console.

Danny Mahealani dropped by a little later to congratulate Isaac.

Before Ethan left town, he told Scott and the pack that Danny knew he was a werewolf and figured Scott and some of the others were too. Scott, Stiles, and Isaac cornered Danny in the locker room after practice one day and explained how important it was that Danny not tell anyone anything. Danny promised that he wouldn’t if they explained who was what.

Danny, after all, was a curious little shit.

John and Melissa sat on the front porch drinking beer and eating Mac n’ Cheese out of paper bowls. They shared stories about their funnier, and less deadly, experiences with the supernatural of Beacon Hills.

Melissa could see that John was still struggling to cope with the new world he’s been dragged into. The nogistine possessing his son, mimicking his wife’s terminal illness, and right after the Darach…. John laughed at the jokes, waited in the suspense, added on with his own stores, but Melissa couldn’t get past the drowning look the sheriff had in his eyes.

“Your leg hurting?” John asked Melissa, noticing her rubbing her leg were the oni’s blade left a scar. He had one, too, on his arm, but it was covered by his Henley.

Her smile was shaky. “It’s weird, you know?”

“What’s weird?”

“The hospital massacre, the attack on the station house….everyone blames it all on a Chinese gang, but only we know what really happened. We say supernatural swords, they say poisoned knives.” She turned to John. “Doesn’t it eat at you knowing that we can never tell anyone what the hell goes on in this place?”

“After all the attacks on the station – the Kanama, the werewolves, the Oni, the bomb – my guys don’t know what else to think. The department is losing man power because no one wants to transfer in.”

“You know what this town needs?” Melissa said after a brief silence.

“An exorcism?” John muttered into his beer.

“A support group.” John gave her a funny look. “A ‘My Kid’s Mixed Up with the Crazy’ support group.”

John chuckled. He gestured to the empty air in between them with his beer bottle. “Like this?”

“Why not? Seems to be working right now.” She took a long sip of her beer. “If our kids can have a pack, why can’t we?”

“What the hell,” John sighed. He held out his beer. “I’m in.”

Melissa held out her beer, too. “To pack parents.”

“To pack parents,” he chorused, smiling.

It was silent between them while they drank their beer and ate their Mac n’ Cheese. John couldn’t remember the last time he was having dinner with another adult that wasn’t on the force. Sure, he and Melissa have known each other for years and they’ve been through too much together to not be friends. Sometimes John thinks their friendship felt like something more. Not like a support system, although that would be nice, but something…..more.

Yet whenever John starts thinking like that, he’s reminded of Claudia by the wedding ring on his finger. He doesn’t have the heart to take it off. Claudia was the love of his life, the mother of their son. Thinking about Melissa beyond friendship felt nice and filled the hole in his heart that been growing; yet it turned him inside-out, too. It always came back to Claudia.

“What’re you thinking about?” Melissa nudged John with her shoulder.

“The death doll this town’s stacking up.” He sipped his beer. “Aiden, Allison…”

Melissa nodded her head solemnly. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it? They were both so young.”

John nodded his head to the front door behind them. “They’re all too young. For any of this.”

“I can handle being thrown in the thick of the chaos, but the after it’s all over,” She deeply gulped her beer. She rubbed the bottle between her hands. “Scott and Isaac are doing their best to put themselves back together. They have each other, they have me, they have the pack. But who does Chris have? He’s lost his entire family to this town and keeps going. And Ethan? His brother died in his arms, in pain….and he has no one, John.”

John looked over and saw the tears welling in Melissa’s eyes. “He’s not staying with the pack?”

“After Derek helped him burry Aiden, Ethan said his goodbyes. Scott tried telling him he was always welcome here,” She gestured to the house, “but I guess he couldn’t bare living in the same town his brother died in.” 

“Have you see him?” John asked, changing the topic. “Argent.”

Melissa shook her head. “Not since the funerals.”

“He mentioned heading back home, but where’s home? His apartment is empty, cell is switched off.”

“Do you think he’s going, what do you call it…underground?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.” John sipped his beer. “Like you said, he’s lost his entire family to this town.”

A cheer erupted from inside the house. They looked over their shoulders and saw through the window that someone has finally beaten Lydia’s pool hustling – Derek. Whereas Mellissa saw the kids celebrating the feat, John only saw his son and Derek.

Stiles was jumping up and down around Derek, clapping him on the back and cheering. When they looked at each other, it was hard to miss the warmth that settled in Derek’s eyes.

“You notice it, too, right?” Melissa said quietly.

“Notice what?” John turned away from the window. He put the bottle to his lips and sipped.

“The way Derek is around Stiles. He’s….less Derek; more happy.” Melissa smiled at her description. “They’re growing closer.”

John has noticed. The prolonged stares, the stray glances, the quiet conversations. Just last week, Derek called the house asking for Stiles to meet him someplace to talk.

  
“I’ve been talking to Deaton lately, about where Stiles fits in with the pack. He’s the only human.”

“Lydia is human. Alisson is – _was_ human.”

John shook his head. “Lydia is a banshee and Alisson was a hunter. What does Stiles have? What does he bring to all this?”

“A bat?” Melissa joked. "Loveable sarcasm?"

  
John chuckled. “So he keeps reminding us.”

“So what did Deaton say?”

“Before the Hale massacre, Deaton was an emissary to Talia Hale’s pack.”

“What’s an emissary?”

“A Druid, like Deaton." John glanced over and saw traces of confusion. He smiled into the rim of his bottle. “Think Godfather.”

“An Emissary is like a consigliere?” Melissa started to giggle. “That makes Stiles Tom Hagan.”

It made sense to Melissa, putting new things (Emissary Druids) into context with things she’s more familiar with (The Godfather). Over the long years of friendship between Claudia and Melissa, the Godfather could not be underestimated. Melissa practically dragged Claudia to see the premier of The Godfather III in 1990.

“So Stiles is the Emissary to Scott’s pack.” Melissa thought out loud. “Did Deaton tell you what he would be doing?”

“Since Stiles isn’t a Druid, he can’t do anything….magical for the pack. But as a human Emissary, he’ll be an advisor to the pack and sometimes seen as the Alpha’s, Scott’s, “right-hand man". Stiles will mediate disputes, represent or aide in meetings with other packs. He’ll also liaison between Scott and others important outside of the pack. An Alpha will often appoint someone close to him or her who they trust as their Emissary.”

“That’s how Deaton became Talia Hale’s Emissary.”

John nodded. “An Emissary’s main job is to be the Aplah’s "auxiliary brain", helping Scott formulate plans. Stiles has done that their whole lives, nothing new there. Stiles can’t be a yes-man to Scott; he's supposed to be one of the few in the pack who can argue with Scott on pack matters.”

“That won’t work in this pack, I can garentee you that.” Melissa smiled.

  
“When Scott comes up with a plan, Stiles has to constantly challenge that plan's weaknesses until it's foolproof. An Emissary is the only one in a pack who knows all of the Alpha's contacts and secrets, and if compromised, could bring an entire pack down. Just like the whole nogistine disaster.” John rubbed the beer bottle between his hands. “The only good thing about Stiles being a human Emissary is that he’ll be viewed as untouchable and can’t be directly targeted by rival packs or other…creatures.”

“Won’t the rules be different is Stiles is human?”

“Deaton said that it is almost an unspoken rule that an Emissary is a Druid, and always a family member or a trusted friend outside the Alpha’s personal family. Stiles isn’t magical, can’t cast spells or brew potions, so….” John sighed, “I don’t know how that’s going to work.”

Overhead, thunder clapped ominously. The already darkening sky began to churn with black clouds. Melissa pushed herself off the porch steps.

“We’d better get inside before it starts coming down.” She took up John’s empty mac n’ cheese bowl and held out a hand to help lift him up.

Static shocked them when their fingers touch. John didn’t have time to read into it since his phone began to ring.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He took it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Sheriff Stilinski.”

Melissa went inside to put away the dishes and check up on everyone, giving John some privacy.

“ _It’s Deputy Parrish, sir.”_

“What is it, Parrish?”

_“Sir, call came in for a 261, 187. I’m on scene now at apartment 13b, Grover Hills Plaza. Everything’s roped off, forensics is standing by.”_

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “I’ll be there is ten minutes. Have forensics start, but I wants pictures before they do anything.”

“ _And, sir…?”_ John stayed quite on his end. “ _The place is, well, a bit out there_.”

“’Out there’ how?”

“ _Well, sir….I think she might be a witch.”_

John’s heart dropped into his stomach. _Speaking of Druids_ , was all he could think. He quietly asked, “What make you say that, Parrish?”

_"She’s got an alter with candles burning, a roped sage smoking in a bowl, uh…weird symbols, spell books, you name it. Also, she was stabbed with a knife that had a pentagram carved into the handle.”_

John was silent another moment to give him time to think. “Like I said, I’ll be there in ten.”

John clicked his phone shut. He stuffed it back in his pocket as he downed the last of his beer.

“I thought you were off tonight.” Melissa said. She hovered in the doorway.

He stepped in the doorway, reaching around her to grab his coat. John leaned in close enough to smell the lavender shampoo Melissa must use. Coupled with her perfume, she smelled beautifully tonight. ”

Melissa covered her mouth with her hand. “Ah, that’s terrible.”

John lowered his voice further just in case one of the wolves might be listening. “She might have been witch, Melissa. Maybe a Druid. Hell, what's the difference.”

“Are you serious?” Melissa’s eyes widened. She threw a glance over her shoulder at all the smiling faces of her misfit family. “We just got rid of the nogistine, John.”

“I know.” He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “I’m heading over there now. Maybe it's just nothing. I’ll let you know if it turns into anything.” He was about to turn when something occurred to him. “Stiles-”

“Can stay here tonight,” Melissa nodded with a smile.

"Thanks, Mell." John returned the smile gratefully and set off.  
~~~//~~~

**CRIME SCENE**  
 **GROVER HILLS PLAZA**

It had started to downpour by the time Sheriff Stilinski’s cruiser parked outside the yellow tape surrounding the apartment complex. Surrounding the building much like the yellow tape were Beacon Hills police cars, some with their lights still flashing, illuminating the sideways rain.

It never ceases to amaze John after all years on the force the amount of people willing to stand around an accident as if it were an exhibit at a zoo. Even in miserable conditions, like they’re having now, there was still a crowd gathered behind the tape.

John tightened up his coat as he stepped out of the cruiser. Deputy Sarah Smith gave John the nod to go on through and lifted the tape for him. She was nearly a year out of the academy, yet she still looked like a high schooler. It was probably her small stature or naturally sweet disposition, but without the patrol uniform on, he couldn’t tell.

“I thought you said ten minutes, Sheriff?” Deputy Parrish called out over the rain. He was standing by the apartment’s doorway, checking his watch, when John walked up.

“Traffic.” John said simply enough. “Details?”

“Haley Benet. Female. Mid- to late-twenties. Raped before being fatally stabbed once through the heart.” Parrish quickly spouted off. He opened up the lobby doors and followed John inside. Parrish led the way to ground floor apartment 13b. “Sampson County called about five minutes ago when they overheard our wire. Apparently, there was another case like this a year ago – young woman, attractive, occult items in the home, rapped before one fatal stab wound to the chest with a pentagram carved into the handle.”

“They get anywhere with it?”

“Nothing but dead-ends, sir. This has happened in three different counties, going as far back as five years and seven victims. All reports from each murder are being faxed to the office.”

“So we’ve got a serial killer,” John sighed.

“A serial witch killer.”

“Women,” John stopped and held up his finger. “He’s killing women.”

John didn’t know how much more of this supernatural shit he could take. He could deal with being in danger, hell that was his job, but the fact his son is constantly involved with all the big bad happening worried him beyond belief. Now witch killings were moving into his town….John had an aching feeling that another disaster was soon to hit his town.

“Yes, sir.” Parrish nodded. “Would you like me to continue?” John waved his hand. “The murder weapon was a double-edged steel knife. That weapon is commonly referred to as an ‘athame’; used as a ceremonial tool witches use to direct energy.” John’s eyebrow lifted questionably. “Google, sir.”

They came to a stop at the end of the hallway. The crime scene was the last apartment on the left, yellow police tape on the doorframe. There were forensic techs collecting evidence and dusting for prints on the emergency door across from the apartment. There was glass on the floor and a hole the size of a fist in the window.

“The killer cut the connection to the door’s alarm before punching through the glass.” A tech told John as he stopped to look.

“The killer came through the emergency exit,” John guided himself, “and went straight to Haley Benet’s apartment across the hall.” He turned to Parrish. “Signs of forced entry?”

“No, sir. The killer had a key.” He pointed to an evidence bag poking out of a cardboard box the tech’s were placing all evidence in. Inside the bag Parrish was pointing to was a single metal key. “He ditched the key beside the victim’s body. That’s a part of his motive, according to Sampson County. I have someone checking on that back at the office.”

“So either he knew Haley Benet or he got close enough to copy her key.” John shook his head slowly. “He knew enough about her to know she was a….a witch.”

“Coming through,” A voice called out in the apartment. “Coming through.”

Parrish took down the yellow tape on the door frame so that a man in a black jumpsuit with ‘Coroner’s Office’ stenciled in white on the back could back out of the apartment. He held one end of the black body bag while another coroner’s assistant held the other. Once in the hallway, they laid the body on a gurney and rolled it out.

Dr. Robert C. Hall walked out of the apartment, relying heavily on his cane. Dr. Hall is Beacon Hills’ medical examiner and funeral director. He was in his mid-sixties with gray hair and beard to match. He was rounded, but not unfit, and relied on his cane for his prosthetic leg. He lost his real leg in a motorcycle accident a few years back. John remembers Dr. Hall being more angered over the loss of his bike more than his leg.

“John,” Dr. Hall held out his hand for John to shake. “I’ll have my report ready for you in the morning.”

“Thank you. Is there anything off the bat you can say?”

“Until I get her open, I’m going with the obvious.” Dr. Hall absently tapped his fake leg. “She was stabbed through the heart with a double edged blade,” he pointed to the evidence box at John’s feet, “after being raped.”

“Thanks, doctor.” John patted Dr. Hall’s shoulder as he walked into the apartment. Parrish followed right behind him.

“It all happened in the living room, sir,” Parrish pointed past John.

The two walked through the kitchen and into the living room. There, in the center of the room, white candles issuing black smoke circled a wooden alter with carvings etched into it. A blue satin cloth was laid over the top; wooden bowls with different spices and herbs were inside; a goblet of wine was in the center of the table with different cuts of gems around it. There was an unmistakable blood puddle.

John could see that a struggle took place – furniture strewn around, knocked over, and broken – yet the alter and the candles surrounding it seemed to be untouched.

“This is where it happened?” John asked for confirmation.

“Yes, sir.” Parrish nodded. “Haley Benet was kneeling in front of her alter when the killer snuck up from behind her. There was an obvious struggle. He finally took her down, here.” Parrish pointed to a pile of women’s clothes to the left of the alter. A tech was currently picking up her panties and placing them in an evidence bag.

“Afterwards,” Parrish continued, “He dragged her inside of the circle and stabbed her. We found the knife inside of the wine goblet.”

“Let me guess,” John said, “that’s not wine.”

“No, sir, it is not.”  
~~~//~~~

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

The party began to wind down.

Kira was the first to leave around ten when her father came to pick her up. Lydia gave Malia a ride home soon after. Jackson was sleeping underneath the kitchen table, an empty pizza box in his arms.

It was around eleven when Melissa decided to formally break up the party.

“It’s a school night, boys.” She walked into the living room and shut down the T.V. The boys groaned and started bargaining with her for a few more minutes. “No way, let’s go.”

“What about me? I don’t have school tomorrow.” Derek gave her a wolfish grin.

Melissa ignored his comment. “Can one of you pick Jackson up and put him on the couch? I don’t want to leave him on the floor.”

“He’ll be fine.” Isaac said, muttering under his breath, “Blends in with the dirt.”

“I’ve got him,” Scott sighed. He disappeared into the kitchen and came out a moment later with a sleepy Jackson thrown over his shoulder. Scott unceremoniously dropped him on the couch.

AS the boys walked out of the room, Melissa took the afghan off the back of the couch and covered Jackson up.

“I’m out of here,” Derek said as he fished around in his picket for his keys. He patted Isaac’s shoulder before walking out the door. “See ya.”

“Bye, Derek.” Scott said before the door closed.

Isaac crawled up the stairs on all fours, his new scarf trailing in between his legs. Scott was walking up the stairs behind Isaac when he heard the front door open again. He turned around to see Stiles putting on his coat in the doorway.

“You’re not staying the night?”

“Nah, I’m heading home.”

Scott took a step down. “All right. Do you need a lift? My mom can-”

“I’m good, thanks.” Stiles was turning out the door when Scott said, more incitingly,

“Are you sure?" There was something else hiding in his tone. "It’s pretty cold out there.”

“Scott,” Stiles sighed. “I’m fine. Okay? I’ve recovered, I’m healing….what else do you want me to say? I’m okay to walk home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Stiles shut the door before Scott could say anything else. Stiles spotted Derek casually leaning against the hood of his car. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head was hung to stare absently at the pebble he was rolling underneath his boots.

“I hope you’re not waiting to lecture me.” Stiles scoffed. He zipped up his red jacket and stuffed his hands in the pockets.

“No lecture.” Derek straightened up.

“Good.” Stiles headed down the driveway, past Derek.

Derek reached out and lightly grabbed Stiles’ arm. Stiles turned around and was surprised by the brief concern that shot across his face. It was gone just as fast as it came.  
“Just some advice.” He let go of Stiles’ arm and stepped back. “The more you keep saying you’re fine, the less it sounds like a lie and the more it sounds like a plea.”

“I can see those anger management classes have paid off.”

“What’s going on with you, Stiles?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been two months since the nogistine. You should be okay, you say you’re okay, but at the same time….”

Derek took a step forward and breathed deep. ”

“Something’s not right, Stiles. I can smell it.”

“What you smell is my aftershave, and I think it smells fine.” Stiles threw up his hood and began walking away. He took a right down the sidewalk, calling over his shoulder, “Goodnight, Derek.”

“At least let me give you a lift. You’ll drown out here!”

“I’m fine!” Stiles turned down the block and was out of sight.

Stiles walked on for a few more blocks before be noticed the cold. His jacket was too think to keep out the chill and the rain had already soaked through into his skin. He took his hands out of his pockets to wrap his arms around his chest to keep the shivers down.

Maybe it was the rain, maybe he got lost in his head, but Stiles didn’t hear the car coming up behind him. He didn’t hear the tires slipping and sliding, failing to gain traction in the rain; he didn’t hear the drunken snoring of the man passed out behind the wheel.

What Stiles saw was the headlights shining on him to cast an eerie shadow on the fence beside him. He turned around in time to see the car speeding towards him. It was too late to move; and even if it wasn’t, Stiles’ didn’t think his legs could move. They felt as if they’re being held down.

All he could think to do was close his eyes and cover his hands with his face in fear.

Stiles expected a crash, loud noises, even pain, but nothing happened. He’s been told that time seemed to slow in accidents, but this was ridiculous. In his head, he counted to ten.

Still, nothing happened.

Stiles slowly lowered his hands and opened his eyes. Barely three feet in front of him was a white Chevy Tahoe, the driver drunk and asleep at the wheel, frozen in time. Everything for ten feet out was still, even the rain.

Fear and panic coursing through him, Stiles turned and ran. Behind him, he heard the crash.  
~~~//~~~

**BEACON HILLS CEMETARY**

A porcelain white hand shot through the ground, sending up splinters of a wooden casket with it. A moment later, a second hand shot up.

They groped the ground, looking for something to cling to. They dug their nails into the earth and began to deepen the small holes they’ve made.

The rain grew heavier, as did the thunder. The lightening’s crack grew louder. Rivers of rain water flowed around the grave, finding its way into the widening hole the hands were digging.

The hands quickened their pace out of sheer desperation, it seemed. With the water flowing into the grave, it would surely drown whomever was rising.

One of the hands stretched out and sunk its hold into more firm ground. The other hand pushed at the edge of the hole it had made. Slowly, yet with determination, a shoulder emerged, followed closely by a head.

The head gasped for air, filling its previously unused lungs with sweet air. Its mouth filled with water and it thirstily gulped it down.

The person rising from the grave heaved themselves further, their nails clawing further and further, until, finally, the person was halfway out. With their hips free, the person wiggled and rolled and squirmed out of the hole until their legs were free.

The person silently crawled towards its headstone. The rain pelted heavily against the person’s back, washing away the soil and the stink of death. The person laid its hand atop of the stone, using it to push off the ground.

It took the person several attempts to get off its knees and onto its feet; even then, the person teetered. It has been years since the person has been able to stand. Barefoot, the person scrunched its toes into the soaked grass.

The simplest feeling of being able to stand in the grass with bare feet was nearly overwhelming for the person. The person had to tighten its grip on the headstone to keep from falling down.

The person was weak. Too weak. And cold. So cold. Having just awoken, the person’s thoughts and memories were jumbled together and blurry. As soon as the person got a hold of an image in its mind, it would leave as quickly as it came.

Only a name stuck out in the back of the person’s mind. A friend? Family member? Perhaps a lover? Yes, that was it. The person had loved this name. The name was important to the person before its death, and even in death the person thought of this name.

It was decided, then. The person would go to the name because the person loved the name and the name loved the person. The person was too weak to protect itself, only just coming back to life, so the name will protect the person.

Lightning struck a maple tree not far from where the person stood. The flash from it momentarily blinded the person. It illuminated the cemetery from what seemed like an eternity. The person was forced to look down, to shield its eyes from the light. After so many years of darkness, it would take a while to get used to anything else.

Yet through the light and through the pain, the person was able to read its headstone. How often does one get to read their own headstone after they’ve been dead and buried?

Boldly etched into stone:

Claudia Marie Stilinski  
Born August 7, 1970  
Died August 11, 2004  
Aged 37  
Beloved Wife and Mother  
May She Finally Be At Peace

Propped against the base of the headstone was a single white tulip with a red ribbon tied around the stem.


	3. Chapter 2

**BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC**

The clock on the dashboard read twelve forty-five in neon green letters. Doctor Alan Deaton sat in his car a moment more, watching the rain illuminated by the headlights, before getting out.

Twenty minutes ago, Alan received a phone call with the caller ID reading from the clinic. When he answered, he heard Stiles panicking and speaking faster than normal. Alan told him to sit tight and wait there until he arrived. Stiles, the brain power of the pack, would never break into the clinic unless something was seriously wrong. Alan hoped it wasn't an after affect of the nogistine's infection.

Alan turned off his car and headed inside. t shaking from the chill.

“Stiles,” Alan called out as he came in.

He grabbed a thick grey blanket from one of the shelves and was walking towards him when Stiles shot to his feet fearfully. He tried to push farther into the wall and away from Alan, holding his hands out for Alan to stop.

“No! Please, don’t – don’t come any closer. I-I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Stiles, you aren’t going to hurt me.” Alan took a small step forward.

Stiles cried out as if he was in pain. He slid along the wall, knocking trays over, moving toward another corner. The light caught Stiles’ face for the briefest of moments, but Alan could see the absolute horror and fear in the boy’s face.

“Stiles. Stiles, you are not going to hurt me.” Alan repeated.

“You don’t know that. I-I can’t control it….” Stiles’ voice cracked. Alan could hear the fear in his voice. Stiles not knowing what was happening inside him, but knowing at the very least it was dangerous, concerned Alan greatly.

“What can’t you control, Stiles?” Alan said more gently.

“I-I don’t know-”

“You came here because you wanted help. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I-I can’t control it, doc. It-It just happens. I don’t know what else I can do, but I afraid I’m going to hurt someone.” Stiles took a small step out of the dark corner and in to the light. His skin was pale from the cold and wet from the rain; his eyes were red and bloodshot. “Please….Help me.”

“I will, Stiles. I always will. Now,” Alan held up the blanket and shook it slightly, “let’s get you out of those wet clothes. There’s a pair of sweats in the store room Scott left behind. You can change in there.”

Stiles slowly walked up to the blanket. He kept his distance as much as he could as he reached out for the blanket. “Thanks, doc.”

Stiles headed to the store room to change. Alan put some towels down to soak up the puddles and made some kava tea to help Stiles relax. He came out of the store room a couple minutes later with the blanket wrapped firmly around him. Alan guided him to an exam table and helped him up. He grabbed another blanket and wrapped him in it. Alan handed Stiles the tea.

“Start from the beginning.”

“Tonight or-”

“The beginning.” Alan repeated.

Stiles took in a shaky breath. He sipped the tea and gradually began to relax. “Ever since we got rid of the nogistine a couple months ago, I’ve been having these…dreams. They’re not like the ones I had before with the nogistine. They’re….different.”

“Different how?”

“I’m not me. In fact, I’m not anywhere in my dreams. Every night, I’m a different person but I’m always a woman. I can see what they see, hear what they hear, feel what they feel, but I know it’s not me.”

“And in these dreams, what are you doing?”

Stiles glared over his tea mug. “I don’t subconsciously want to be a woman. It’s not me, doc.”

“Alright, let me rephrase. What are these women doing in your dreams?”

“Like I said, every night it’s a different woman. Every night, it’s a different time period. And every night they’re doing the same things.”

“What are they doing, Stiles?”

“Witchcraft?” Stiles sighed. “Brewing together herbs, chanting from and writing in the same book. At the end of every dream, before I wake up, I see the women die. More often than not it’s murder; occasionally a sickness or two.”

Alan reached over and tucked the blanket tighter around Stiles. “Tell me about the book. You said ‘the same book’, not just any book.”

“Yeah. This – This thick, green, leather bound book. Hundreds of yellow pages. Every woman…witch…adds to the book – spells, poitions, um, various monsters. A red ribbon to mark the page. And this symbol – this funky three ovals in a circle.”

Alan took a pad and pen of his desk and gave it to Stiles. “Can you draw it?”

With a shaky hand, he roughly sketched out three elongated ovals – one pointing up, the other two pointing sideways in opposite directions – the ends joining in the center; bisecting the center was a circle. Stiles handed over the sketch to Alan. Alan froze. He would recognize that symbol anywhere.

“Do you recognize it?”

“No,” Alan quickly lied. He traced the symbol with his finger as he asked, “And this book is important to these women?”

“Absolutely.” Stiles nodded adamantly. “I-I get this feeling that it’s the most important thing in the world. A few of the women even died trying to protect the book from something…..evil getting to it. They write down almost everything in. It’s not a diary, no, it’s something more. A cookbook, maybe, for whatever they brew up. They also write about the other creatures they encounter, so it’s also a catalog.”

Alan looked up from the sketch. Given what he was hearing and what Stiles has drawn, he was coming to a very unlikely conclusion to what was happening. If his theory was right, then something bad – very bad – happened, or is going to happen soon. He set aside the sketch and folded his hands in his lap. It was important that Alan know as much about what was going on in Stiles’ head before surfacing his theory which would inevitably dig up the past.

“How does the book get from one woman to the next? Do the women find the book or does the book find them?”

“Neither,” Stiles sipped his team. Some of the tension was loosening from his shoulders. “The women are all related to each other. It’s passed down through the family; from mother to daughter, aunt to niece; grandmother to granddaughter-”

“So it’s always a woman that inherits the book?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I-I’ve never seen any male get it.” Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Now that you mention it, the men in the families aren’t there for very long.”

“What happens to them?”

“An early death or they abandon ship.”

Alan let his mind wonder for a moment as he thought of what to ask next. He had to be careful in what he says to not reveal anything. Either Stiles sorts through the mess himself, finding the truth along the way, or Alan shatters his reality with harsh truth and speculation.

“Stiles,” Alan said slowly. “What time period did you last dream of?”

“Uh, last night the woman died in a 1983. Her car was washed off the interstate during a flood and she drowned in the lake.”

Alan sat up straighter. His movement was quick and unexpected, causing Stiles to notice. “Tell me everything you can about this woman.”

“Why?” Caution made its way into Stiles’ eyes.

“This is the most recent lead we have in figuring out how these women are connected to you. Find the connection, find a way to solve your problem.”

“Why do you think they’re connected to me?”

Alan avoid the question. “Why else would you be seeing them? Now, the woman.”

Stiles took a minute to remember. “Uh, her name was Eleanor Cole. She had four daughters.” Stiles looked at Alan to see his face carefully blank. “I don’t know they’re names. I only know the name of the person I live through.”

“That’s all right. Just tell me what you know.”

“Eleanor killed her husband and his mistress after discovering their affair. She _uses….magic….to_ cover her tracks so that it looks like he ran off with the woman. That was in 1976 – I read the newspaper on the kitchen counter. Between then and her death, it was pretty much a fast-forward montage of her fighting creepy things and spending time with her family.”

“The dream doesn’t show you anyone else? Who she was fighting, magic friends of hers, something along those lines?” Alan pressed.

“No. Nothing like that. The dream focuses on deaths in the family, births of the daughters – never the sons, if they ever had any - and that stupid book.” Stiles furiously pointed to the sketch pad. “So tell me, doc…what’s wrong with me.”

Alan held up his hand. “You’re forgetting something. What made you come here tonight?” Stiles withdrew into himself. He wrapped the blankets tighter around him, covering his hands in particular, and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Stiles,” Alan said gently, yet with a firm undertone. He placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I may know what’s happening to you, but what you’re holding back can only confirm the theory I have or generate a whole new one. You need to let me in.”

Stiles kept his head down as he talked. “The dreams weren’t the only thing the start a couple months ago. At first it wasn’t noticeable, I kept thinking I was imagining it because I was so tired. But then one morning, about a week ago, I thought I was going crazy…”

“Keep going, Stiles.”

“I was in the kitchen, cooking some pop-tarts in the toaster. Dad and I got into it pretty bad the night before so I was still angry with him. I kept thinking about what I said and how I could have said it better, and about what else to say to him next. When the pop-tarts popped, it startled me. I jumped back, my hands flew in front of me, and-”

“And…?” Alan leaned forward.

Stiles finally looked up. His eyes were red rimmed. “They were frozen. In mid-air. Like, pressing pause on the TV.”

“Stiles-” Before Alan could finish, Stiles was talking over him.

“I thought I was going crazy! The nogistine messed with my head so much, I thought it was another trick, that he was still in there and the past months have been an illusion. A hallucination! That’s what he does, you know. He makes you feel safe before he attacks. I wanted it all to be over so bad – the nightmares, the hallucinations, the possession – all of it!” “And you don’t think that now?” Stiles began to breath heavier, like he was about to cry but was holding it in. “It slowly got worse to the point where it couldn’t be fake, that it had to be real. Every time I was upset or angry...ANYTHING set me off! I would be walking up the steps to my front porch and would jump at the bark of the neighbor’s dog. I would look over and the dog would be still-”

Alan quoted Stiles. Stiles nodded solemnly. ”

“On a much, much bigger scale.” He took a shaky breath. “A drunk driver went off the road and was about to hit me, but I stopped it. I froze the car….I froze the whole street. And-And when I was walking away, it unfroze and I heard the crash and I ran.” Stiles laughed shakily. “And that concludes story-time.”

Alan walked over to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair. He had a choice to make: either tell Stiles the truth or have him connect the dots. Telling him the truth would cause him to be skeptical, perhaps disbelieving. All his life, he’s only known what he’s been told. He believes the supernatural world is new to him. Shattering his constructed reality might cause his gifts to take a turn for the worst. Unpredictability and raw emotion should never be hand-in-hand when dealing with magic. Having Stiles connect the dots by himself is slower than outright telling him the truth, but perhaps this is something he must go through alone. All he would need from Alan is a nudge in the right direction…a trail of breadcrumbs to follow. He would believe himself faster than someone else.

“Doc?” Stiles called out to Alan. “You okay?”

Alan shook himself out of thought. He pulled out the bottom left drawer of his desk. Inside were copious amounts of brown files with color coded nametags attached. Alan pushed them all forward so that he could reach into the very back. For a moment, Stiles thought Alan’s hand got stuck, but a moment later, he pulled back with an oak box in his hand. Alan set the box on the desk. He pulled his key-ring out of his pocket and flipped through the keys until he found the right one. He stuck the small key inside the lock in the box. When it click, Alan pulled the key out and stuck the ring back into his pocket. Stile tried to peak around to see what was inside the oak box, but Alan shifted his body so that Stile’s couldn’t. Stiles heard the box close and Alan turned to him. He held out is hand and Stiles saw that there was a key with a bright orange cap in his hand. Stiles tentatively took the key. On the orange cap, blue letters read – Sullivan’s Storage.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“That key belongs to a storage container on the edge of town. Inside, you should be able to find everything you need.”

Stiles hopped off the exam table. “And what is it that I need?”

“Answers.”

Stiles had to give it to him; Alan had a way of mystifying a moment. He looked down at the hey again, rubbing the cap with his thumb. Stiles looked up to see Alan putting his wet cloths in a plastic bag and tying it. He handed the bag and an umbrella to Stiles.

“But tonight, you need to sleep. The storage container will still be there tomorrow.”

As Alan walked Stiles to the door, Stiles asked. “Why do you want me going to your storage container? I mean, shouldn’t we go there together?”

Alan opened the front door. The rain had stopped its downpour and was now only a light drizzle. He turned to Stiles with a blank expression. “It isn’t my storage container. I just have a key.” Alan returned to his desk after locking up when Stiles left.

The lights were off, save the dim lamp he kept on his desk. In the pool of the light, Alan saw that the oak box was open whereas he had left it closed. Inside was a set of notecards with various recipes and instructions written in perfect cursive; a few more keys; a necklace; and a yellowed letter. Aside from the key that Alan had given Stiles, there was one more object missing. Silently and calmly, he turned on the overhead lights. Sitting on the same exam table Stiles had been was Peter Hale. His hair was soaked as well as his clothes, as if he was been standing in the rain a while. In his hands was the other item missing from the box – a photograph.

“Hello, Doctor.” Peter drawled absently as he caressed the edge of the photograph with his thumb.

“Hello, Peter.” Alan said coolly enough, yet there was a current of heat underneath. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need your help, Alan.”

In all the years that Alan has known Peter, which are quite a few, never once has Peter said his name. He was always the Emissary, or Doctor Deaton, or the Druid, or something demeaning. Alan was slightly thrown as he asked, “With what?”

Peter smoothly got to his feet and walked toward Alan. His clothing left a trail of water in his wake. Stopping a few feet in front of Alan, Peter held up the picture. The picture was taken nearly nineteen years ago. In it was Alan, sporting a then popular goat-tee and Hawaiian shirt, with his arm around Claudia Stilinski. They were both smiling at the camera.

“I think we both know the answer to that question.”

* * *

**BEACON HILLS CEMETARY**

The call came in earlier this morning. From what dispatch told John, Old Man Wilks was making his morning rounds through the cemetery, making sure the storm didn’t do any damage, when he came across the grave. The ground was turned up, mud and dirt littered the dewy grass, and splinters of wood from the coffin were slung about. John questioned the dispatcher quite harshly on why she would be calling him at six in the morning when she could have given this to a deputy on duty. The dispatcher hesitated before telling John that is was his wife’s grave that was being investigated.

John now stood off to the side of the desecration. His hands were balled into fists in the pocket of his sheriff’s jacket. Who would do this? John asked himself. It was one thing to come after him (he’s the Sheriff, it would be expected), but to destroy his wife’s grave? Steal her body?

John was lost in his rage that he didn’t hear Deputy Parrish come up from behind him. “I’m sorry about this, Sheriff.”

“Don’t be sorry and get me the scum-sucker that did this,” John growled under his breath.

“We can at least rule out a connection to the occult stabbing from last night. Your wife wasn’t a witch, right?” Parrish tried lightening the mood.

“Deputy, I’m going to give you a ten second head-start before I turn around and punch you square in the face.”

“Sheriff, I didn’t mean-”

“Nine.”

Parrish shut his mouth and back away. He walked over to a couple of uniforms standing on the perimeter and warned them about the Sheriff’s mood. John knew he would be ashamed of what he said later on that day, but currently he couldn’t care. The only feeling that beat out his anger is his guilt. It’s been a little over nine months since he’s visited. Between work and Stiles and, well, work, he’s forgotten to visit. He used to bring Stiles every Sunday after church, but after Stiles grew into his brain, he threw a theological fit in the middle of mass. Afterwards, John only brought him once in a while and a little less after that.

Now, it’s only John that visits. Stiles doesn’t much see the point in talking to a stone slab.

“Sheriff,” a voice squeaked behind John. He turned to see a thin, mousey crime scene technician with glasses that overpowered his face. “I-I thought you might want this back….” With a shaky hand, the technician pulled out a white tulip bouquet with a white ball dahlia in the center, all tied together with a deep purple ribbon. “I guess they were just too pretty to damage.”

John hesitantly accepted the bouquet. “Thanks…”

The technician walked away like the dodged a bullet with John. John looked down at the bouquet in his hands. It was uncannily similar to the one he and Claudia had at their wedding, the only difference was the ball dahlia in the center. White tulips were Claudia’s absolute favorite flower, they were planted all around their house, and her favorite color purple. John didn’t do this, and Stiles certainly wasn’t this thoughtful. He gripped the bouquet tighter and called over his shoulder for Parrish.

The deputy came running. “Sir?”

John brandished the bouquet. “Find out who delivered this. I want names, I want addresses, I want absolutely everything and I wanted it yesterday!”

Parrish had a look of absolute confusion. He tenderly took the flower bouquet from John. “Yes….yes, sir. Is there a reason-”

“Whoever left these might know something about this or just might be the person we’re looking for.”

Parrish dashed off to the small crowd of uniformed officers leaning against his cruisers. He barked orders as John stood above the grave.

Clear across the grounds, hidden in the foliage of the forest, was Peter Hale. His eyes glowed a brilliant blue as he watched John stand over the grave and the circus that was his department. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and reported back to Deaton.

* * *

**SULLIVAN’S STORAGE**

Dark clouds rolled back into Beacon Hills. Light rain began to drizzle as Scott parked his motorcycle in front of the orange storage container they needed. A few moments later, Stiles parked his blue jeep next to him.

Stiles had spent the morning explaining to Scott what has been going on the past few months – the dreams, the sudden powers, and the cryptic conversation he had with Dr. Deaton the night before. Scott was freaked at the beginning, thinking it was a side-effect of the nogistine, but after hearing Stiles out, Scott turned his overwhelming concern into determination. They had figured out what was wrong with Stiles with much less before, so how could this time be any different?

Before driving over to Sullivan’s Storage, Scott dropped Stiles off at the mechanics to pick up his jeep. Now, they were here – the mysterious orange storage container with the numbers ‘P-3’ sprayed on front in white paint.

“Doctor Deaton said everything you’d need would be in a storage container?” Scott asked skeptically as he placed his helmet on his bike. “Doesn’t seem like the best place to keep a….cure for whatever is wrong with you.”

“Scott, I’m seeing the lives of dead women in my sleep, living through them until they die; I can practically stop time, but I don’t know how yet; and it all seems to be connected with this green leather book.” Stiles pointed to the container. “If there is something in there that can tell me what’s going on and how to stop it, I’d want to keep it locked up and some place remote.”

Stiles walked over to the door and inserted the key that Deaton gave him. It unlocked the door. Scott got on the other side of the door and together, they pulled the wires that lifted the door. They secured the wires around their perspective latches and stood at the entrance waited for the other to make a move first.

“So if this is really Deaton’s storage container-”

“I never said it was Deaton’s. I just said he gave me the key.”

Scott turned to Stiles. “Then who’s container did we just open?”

“Beats me,” Stiles walked back to his Jeep to retrieve two flashlights from the backseat. He handed one to Scott and turned his on. “But whoever did own this is probably long gone by now and won’t mind us looking around.”

Stiles took the first step inside. Scott hesitated a moment, his eyes glowing red to prepare himself for any danger that might be in there. “I hope you’re right.”

* * *

**HOME OF BOBBY FINSTOCK**

Two cruisers pulled into Coach Bobby Finstock’s driveway; the Sheriff got out of one and his deputy out of the other. The rain was coming down slightly harder now and Bobby was covering his car in a blue tarp when they pulled up.

“Something I can help you with, Officers?” Bobby asked suspiciously as he pulled the tarp taut.

“We were hoping you could, Coach Finstock.” Deputy Parrish started off.

“Why were you visiting my wife’s grave?” John blurted out. On the walk up the driveway, he spotted the white tulip plants in the small garden in front of the porch.

s feeling. He backed away from his car. ”

Deputy Parrish threw John a not so subtle look to tone it down for a bit. He turned to Bobby. “Earlier this morning, Claudia Stilinski’s grave has been torn up and her body missing. The only thing we found at the grave site were these flowers,” Parrish showed him a picture of the bouquet. “Through the records at the graveyard’s front office and their security cams, we tracked you down.”

As Parrish talked, John gauged Bobby’s reaction to the news. Bobby didn’t bother to cover up his reaction – he was visibly shaken by the news. His eyes grew larger and started to search the ground with his eyes as if it held the answers. He stumbled back from his car. Parrish quickly guided him to the porch steps. Bobby sat down heavily, placing his head in his hands. Parrish gave John a confused look that John himself had.

When Bobby had calmed his breathing down, he looked up, running a shaky hand through his hair. John backed off to check the tulips in the garden while Parrish handled this interview. John wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Bobby’s relationship was with his wife. It was obvious they had one, because no one would react like that without a connection, usually of the _physical_ kind…

“Coach Finstock….Bobby,” Bobby looked up at Parrish. “Let’s just start from the begging, alright? How often do you go to Beacon Hills Cemetery to visit Claudia Stilinski?”

“A-About twice a month….Wednesday nights usually. If there’s a game o-or something, I stop by in the morning on my way to work.”

“And you bring her the tulips?”

White tulips are her … _were_ her favorite. I grow the tulips, but have to buy the ball at a nursery a town over. Purple is… _was_ her favorite color.” He took a deep breath. “I like to make sure she had fresh flowers. Nothing dead….that place is death already….she doesn’t deserve that.”

“Why?” John said, walking back over to the porch. Parrish straightened up in case John’s anger flared up. “Why do all of this?”

Bobby looked up at John. There was a spark of anger in his brown eyes that let John know Bobby blamed him for something. “Who else is going to do it, Sheriff?”

“Why?” John asked again, sternly. “Because you weren’t the only person to love her. She was everything to me. And then she met you and got married and moved back here…..that didn’t stop me from having feelings. I went to the café every morning to see her and talk, but as soon as your cruiser pulled up, I’d leave. I’d visit her while she was in the hospital. Mellissa would warn me when you were coming so I’d have time to leave. I-I was at her funeral…..” Bobby’s voice dropped. He rubbed his palms as if to rub out the memory. “Like I said, you weren’t the only one to love her.”

John was taken aback by this. Claudia never mentioned Bobby once, neither has Mellissa. John knew Mellissa and Claudia grew up together in Beacon Hills, had been friends for their entire lives. Since Bobby grew up here, too, it’s entirely possibly they’ve known each other. But then again, why would Claudia never mention Bobby – as a friend, past boyfriend, an admirer? The first time John had ever heard of or seen Bobby was at one of Stiles’ lacrosse practices the summer before he entered high school.

“What was your relationship with Mrs. Stilinski?” Parrish asked politely. He watched John out of the corner of his eye.

“We dated for a couple years in high school…” Bobby spoke quietly at first, before his voice found him. “We were typical ‘High School Sweethearts’, you know? We were each other’s firsts in every way,” His eyes quickly darted to John. He saw John’s jaw tighten and his hands go into his jacket pocket to ball into fists. Bobby looked down at his palms. “But after her family was killed and she started living with Melissa’s family, she started….I don’t know, growing distant from everyone. She broke things off with me before hitting the road for Georgia. She’d call Melissa every Sunday after church and they’d talk for hours. Melissa would…she’d let me know Claudia was, if she was happy…”

It was silent a moment. John was trying to wrap his head around the idea of his wife and Bobby (even though it was before he and Claudia met) and her never telling him about it; Bobby was working through the fact that someone stole Claudia’s body; and Parrish was trying to figure out his next move. It was obvious John couldn’t think clearly on this one, so Parrish has to find a way to get the Sheriff focusing on the “witch” killer while Parrish worked on Claudia’s body snatching.

“Where were you this morning, between midnight and four?” Parrish asked, jotting down notes in his memo pad.

“Uh…” Bobby scrubbed his eyes. “Here. Sleeping. And before you ask, no, there is no one to confirm that.”

“Alright.” Parrish put away his memo pad. “Thank you for your time, Coach.”

As the officers were making their ways to their cars, Bobby stood up and called after John, “I’m sorry for your loss, Sheriff Stilinski.”

After a moment’s hesitation, John said, “You too,” before getting into his cruiser.

* * *

**SULLIVAN’S STORAGE**

“Find anything yet?” Scott called out.

He was carefully picking his way through the hazardous clutter that filled the storage container. Inside the container were cardboard boxes of old leather bound books that ranged in age from thirty-years to over one hundred-years old. In the boxes or trunks that didn’t contain book, held jars of herbs, fermented creatures, liquids, and other things the two boys frankly did not want to know. There seemed to be nothing personal that would tell them who’s storage container this was. It was an occult shop on wheels, one-stop-shop for witches and wizards and any other Harry Potter character you could think of.

“So we’re defiantly thinking witches?” Stiles asked. He was currently elbow deep in a wooden trunk filled with rolls of old parchment. Some of them were written in languages that looked like Tolkien Elvish than anything realistic.

“That’s what it looks like.” Scott brought over another wooden trunk. He set it down next to Stiles’ and opened it. “Seriously? Wouldn’t they have, I don’t know, wands or something?” Inside the trunk were swords and daggers and maces and other sharp weapons. Scott shut the trunk and sat on top of it. “Did your dad get a call last night about something to do with witches?”

Stiles shut his trunk and sat on top of it, too. “Yeah. There was a woman raped and killed her in apartment. It looked like she was a witch – she had an alter, candles, herbs, occult symbols. Turns out there have seen several more murders like this one in different town over the years. Same M.O, same victim type.”

“So this guy is hunting witches.” Scott nodded. “And you think you’re a witch or at least related to one…?”

Stiles sighed. “I-I have no idea. I told you about the dreams and the…”powers” if you want to call them that. Deaton told us to look here and it looks like a bunch of witch-y stuff. Maybe it’s his way of passive-aggressively telling me I’m a witch or wizard or…whatever, or if he wants me to find something that could help me stop whatever is going on inside me.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that we have a witch killer in town the same night you have an outburst of whatever you call it. Could whatever you’re going through be attracting him to town?” Stiles’ kept silent.

They could hear the rain coming down harder from outside, the sharp sting of the rain hitting the roof. The single overhead light flickered. The shadows already danced behind boxes, yet now they seemed to be growing bolder and creep closer. Stiles winced.

“You okay?” He rubbed his ears. For the past hour, he’s been hearing this low hum. It wasn’t an electronic buzz from the light or the flashlights, but something more….natural, earthly……something familiar. The hum felt warm.

“Don’t you hear it?” Stiles sighed.

“Hear what-”

Suddenly, Stiles yelled out in pain. The hum shifted dramatically into an ear-shattering, blood-curdling scream. He fell to his knees, curling in on himself as he squeezed his hands over his ears. “Make it stop!” Stiles yelled painfully. “Make it stop!”

“Stiles….Stiles I don’t hear anything!” Scott held onto Stiles’ shoulders. They were shaking uncontrollably. Stiles’ eyes popped open, tears spilling over the rim and cascading down his cheek.

“Make it stop! I-I can’t take it!”

“H-How? How can I stop it?” Stiles yelled out again. “Stiles! Stiles, tell me what to do!”

Stiles tried to pick himself up, but he collapsed again. Scott put his arm around Stiles’ waist and lifted. With Scott’s support, Stiles stumbled farther back into the storage container. The screaming seemed to get louder and more painful for Stiles the closer they got to the back. It got to the point where Scott, with his enhanced sense of smell, could smell the blood that would soon trickle out of Stiles’ ears. Still, even with the enhanced hearing, Scott couldn’t hear the screaming. Stiles screamed. He was shaking so badly that Scott could no longer hold him up. Scott put Stiles’ back against the wall of the storage container. They were finally at the end of the container and the only thing that was around them were more boxes. Stiles held his head in his shaky hands, his body trembling, tears streaming down his face unchecked and uncaring.

“Stiles-” Scott looked around. “Stiles, what now?”

“I-It’s here! Ah!” He cried out. He slammed his fist against the side of his head. “Stop it! Stop it!”

“What’s here?”

“The book! Get the book!” Stiles yelled. Painfully, he crawled as fast as he could to a black, armored trunk that looked like it could hold a corpse inside. He got to the edge of the trunk before curling up again. He began to claw at his ears and scream out in pain more loudly than before. There was a black padlock on the armored trunk. Mustering up the Alpha inside him, Scott’s eyes shifted to red and his hands transformed into lethal claws. Roaring murderously, he broke the lock. What happened next, he wasn’t expecting – A white light burst from the trunk and sent him flying into the opposite wall across the room. The white light filled the room, blinding the boys.

The screaming was at its highest; it seared Stiles’ brain. He could feel the blood coming from his ears, and another stream beginning to flow from is nose. He knew he couldn’t take much more of this. If he didn’t stop the screaming, he’d go deaf, loose his mind, or die. Scott picked himself up and jogged back to Stiles who was in the fetal position on the floor beside the trunk. He didn’t know if it was a good sign if the violent shaking had stopped. Probably not.

“Stiles….Stiles, tell me what to do. What do you need?”

Stiles could feel himself drifting. His vision was fading, the same with his hearing, all he could feel was the pain. His voice was soft as he spoke, he was surrendering to the screams. “The book...I-I-”

Scott turned to the trunk. The only thing inside the trunk was a green leather bound book. It was massive, filled with yellowing parchment, probably weighing a good eight pounds. On the cover in red was the symbol Stiles had shown him – a triquetra.

“Here, I-I’ve got the book.” Scott pulled out the book from the trunk. AS he did, a burning sensation began to radiate from his hands. His hands felt as if they were on fire. When the pain became too much, he dropped the book. The triquetra was glowing red hot.

In a moment of brief clarity, Stiles reached out and placed his hand on the symbol.


	4. Chapter 3 - Claudia's Story pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is seeing his mother's past through the Book of Shadows' memory. Her story is LENGTHY (to be polite) and is broken up into two separate chapters. I APOLOGIZE wholeheartedly for waiting so long to post, but this is a long chapter to write.  
> WARNING WARNING WARNING --> Mature content (gore and sex)

**[August 7, 1970]**

**COLE FAMILY HOME - BEACON HILLS**

                Deep in the back woods of Beacon Hills, a baby’s sharp cry pierced the quite night’s air. It was the seventh of August and a full, bright moon shown overhead. In the distance, you could faintly hear a pack of wolves howl in response to the child’s cries.

                David Carter gently wrapped the bloody baby in a towel. This wasn’t the first baby he’s delivered at home, and hopefully wasn’t his last. His wife, Eleanor Cole, was a firm believer in big families and home births. She says she’s knows better than the “unreliable” medicine from hospitals; she probably did, but David was able to convince her to at the very least hire a mid-wife for the home births. This mid-wife happened to be a gypsy.

                Since marrying Eleanor, David thought his biggest worry was her refusing to take his last name – something to do with family traditions, keeping the Cole name “alive”. His biggest problem in fact his wife turning out to be a witch. It took a few bottles of scotch and a couple weeks for David to believe, but he finally came around.  

                The first couple years of their marriage was nothing like Bewitched led him to believe, but it changed for the better when their first daughter, Katherine Elizabeth Cole, was born in 1965; their second daughter, Piper Holly Cole, was born two years later. David now held Claudia Marie Cole in his arms, swaddled in the towel.

                Katherine and Piper were in their pajamas, sitting quietly on the stairs.

               “She has my eyes, you know.” David commented.

               “And my everything else, hopefully,” Eleanor commented, halfheartedly. “Give me her.”

               David quietly gave in. He and the gypsy mid-wife began to clean up as Eleanor gazed lovingly down at her child.  She stroked her cheek.

              “You come from a long line of extraordinary women, Claudia Marie. You’ll be powerful one day, you and your sisters.” She held her daughter tighter and whispered, “Never forget who you come from.”

**[1973]**

**COLE FAMILY HOME – BEACON HILLS**

                Claudia sat on the stairs with her older sisters. Katherine was covering Claudia’s ears from their mother’s screams. Their father held their mother’s hand tightly, shouting encouragement over her screams.

                “Is it always like this?” Piper asked. She was clutching her Raggedy Ann doll tightly against her chest. She hated seeing people in pain.

                “I guess so. It looks painful.” Katherine scrunched up her face.

                “I don’t like this, Kitty.” Claudia muttered, crawling backwards towards Katherine. ‘Kitty’ was Katherine’s family nickname. She wrapped her arms around Claudia and rocked her slightly.

                “Me too, but we have to be here.”

                “Why?” Claudia asked impatiently.

                “Because-” Just then, a sharp cry pierced the air. Katherine smiled down at Claudia. “For that.”

                Penelope Cassandra Cole was born January 11, 1973 with a healthy set of lungs and a peaceful heart.

               [Katherine was 8, Piper was 6, and Claudia was 3.]

**[1976]**

                Claudia is woken up by her mother crying. It was late, very late, too late for anyone to be awake. Claudia knew something wasn’t right.

                She pulled back her covers, moved around her sleeping buddy (a stuffed wolf), and climbed out of bed. Her room was modest and simple, nothing extravagant, nothing overly childish. Her mother wasn’t one for sentiment, yet her father always managed to smuggle in toys and childish decorations.

                Claudia quietly opened her bedroom door and tip-toed across the carpeting. To her right was Penelope’s room, her name spelled out in butterfly stickers. Across the hall were her the rooms of her older sisters, their names, too, spelled out it stickers. Down the slim, banister hallway, was her parent’s room. The door was closed.  The house was dark except a warm glow coming from the kitchen downstairs.

                Voices drifted up. There were two people down stairs. She recognized one voice as her mothers. She was crying softly. The second person, a woman, was trying to comfort her.

                “You did what you had to, Ellie.” The woman whispered.

                “I didn’t have to, Talia,” her mother whispered back. Her tone was different this time. It wasn’t sad, it was more like she was exhausted. “I could’ve…I could’ve just left them, I could’ve said a couple words and made them forget everything, but I didn’t….I didn’t even think when I….when I-”

                Claudia had silently crept half-way down the stairs so she could look down into the kitchen. Her mom was sitting at the table, one hand holding her head, the other clasping a bottle of wine. There were two unused wine glasses on the table. The second woman Claudia heard, Talia, was sitting next to Claudia’s mother, her hand rubbing Eleanor’s shoulder. Claudia remembers seeing her before.

                She knew her mom was a witch, that she and her sisters were witches too. Their mother never kept it a secret, she encouraged her daughters to learn their craft from an early age so that they would be stronger once their powers became active. Not only did their mother homeschool Claudia and her sisters in witchcraft, she also loaned out her services to other supernatural beings.

                It seemed to be the Cole family business – a consultant to the supernatural world in all things witchcraft. Good or evil, preferably good, the Cole (coven) family dealt out spells, potions, medical aid, ect. to those who could render a service in return.

            Talia, the woman beside Claudia’s mother, lived nearby. She frequented Eleanor for advice and services, but it was becoming more of a friendship with each visit. She was younger than Eleanor by a couple years and had a younger brother the same age as Piper. Claudia remembers her father mentioning the age gap was off, but Claudia and her sisters aren’t really allowed to be around their parents when they’re talking grown-up stuff.

         “What the hell do I tell me children?” Eleanor sighed, taking a long sip of wine.

          “Where did you find them?” Talia asked, dodging the question. She pried the wine bottle from Eleanor’s hands and set it on the table.

                “Some flea-bag motel off the interstate. I…persuaded….the guy at the front desk to tell me how often he’s seen David.” Eleanor chuckled darkly. “Once a week, can you believe it? Once every goddamn week for the past I don’t know how many years.”

                Talia got up from the table to put a cork in the wine bottle and put it in the fridge. “And where are they now?”

                “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”

                “Not really, but if it means that me and mine might have to do a bit of cleaning up, I’d like advanced notice.”

                “Don’t worry, Talia.” Eleanor got up from the table to put away the unused wine glasses. “I got rid of cheater and his whore cleanly and with little to no effort. No harm to you and yours.”

                Talia was about to say something when she got a whiff of something. She turned her nose upwards and sniffed. When she turned her head, she caught sight of little Claudia sitting on the steps in her pink night gown. Talia tapped Eleanor on the shoulder and pointed at Claudia. Eleanor looked mildly surprised before disappointed.

                The last thing Claudia remembered was her mother whispering, “Sorry, baby,” before everything went dark. She woke up in her mom’s bed the next morning with no recollection of what went on in the kitchen the night before. Later that day, Eleanor told her girls that their father had left them.

                [Katherine was 11, Piper was 9, Claudia was 6, and Penelope was 3.]

**[1983]**

                Eleanor died a couple days ago. She was out driving during a heavy storm after dropping the girls off at Doctor Alan Deaton’s animal clinic and her car got swept off the interstate and into a lake. The force of the impact knocked her out and she drowned.

                Her funeral was today. Katherine got the girls up early, dressed them in their nicest clothes, braided their hair the way they liked, and even made them their favorite breakfast, peanut-butter Mickey-Mouse pancakes. She wanted today – of all days – to go as smoothly as possible.

                Claudia could feel the emptiness of the house in her bones. No one had spoken a word to each other since the accident. Nothing would ever really be the same now that their mom was gone. No more lessons, no more festivals, no more homemade simplicity. Everything will change, for better or worse, and her sisters knew that. The trouble was accepting it.

                Katherine was doing her best to hold it together for the rest of them. She was strong, much stronger than she realized before now. Claudia had heard Katherine crying silently in their mother’s room the night after they heard the news. It was late and everyone was supposed to be sleeping. Piper crawled in with Katherine, then Claudia, then Penelope. No one cared, they all needed to feel a connection to someone. Katherine untangled herself from the heap of arms to sneak off to cry. Claudia heard and cried with her.

                Doctor Alan Deaton, the local veterinarian, was the one that picked the girls up and took them to the burial. He was a Druid, a friend of the family, and a sort of Uncle/Father-figure to the girls. Although he seemed to be in his mid-twenties, he had an air of authority and wisdom that commanded respect. He helped Eleanor teach the girls in older, more advanced magic.

                The funeral was held in the Beacon Hills Cemetery on a cold and windy Wednesday. Claudia thought it might rain. She hoped it wouldn’t; Katherine was one big ball of pent up anger, regret, and grief. The faster this day was over and done with, the faster they could heal.

                The girls stood in a line off to the side of the coffin, holding hands. Alan held onto Katherine’s hand. Behind them were Talia and her pack. There were so many of them, Claudia blurred them together into one gigantic ball of fur.

             Katherine never liked werewolves. She thought they were too reckless and dangerous if they weren’t heavily controlled. She admired Talia for her strength in controlling her pack, but only extended the invitation to her and her pack out because of the friendship they had with Eleanor. Spread out among the crowd were various creatures and witches and whatnots.

                The days and weeks after the funeral stuck out in Claudia’s mind the most. Katherine, who had been so excited having graduated high school the valedictorian, gave up full-ride scholarship to one of the highest rated colleges in California to become a waitress at a fancy French restaurant. If she was going to take care of her sisters, then she needed to say close to home. To top it all off her eighteenth birthday came and went and assumed guardianship of her sisters. Alan helped her through it, giving copious amounts of statements to the courts that Katherine was the best fit. With a little spell casting, the courts decided in her favor. She received her “gift” the same night.

                “Telekinesis” Alan called it. It’s the ability to move objects as well as individuals with the mind. It can be channeled through the eyes or hands, the latter being the most common way to use the power. This is one of the most common yet strongest powers possessed by magical beings, be it good, evil or neutral. It’s powerful, yes, but extremely deadly if not used properly. Alan mentored her with the help of Talia Hale and her pack. If Katherine was to take over the family name and business single handedly until Piper was of age, she needed to reach out and make ties with their community.

                It was during one of these lessons that Claudia’s life took a small, unexpected twist.

                Claudia and her best (and only) friend Melissa Delgado were finishing up their weekly run around Beacon Hills. Melissa hated their weekly runs, but she understood that Claudia needed the distraction now more than ever. She had wiry black hair that could never be tamed; soulful brown eyes that would reduce you to puddles.

                “Alright,” Melissa panted. “Cool it, speedy.”

                Claudia jogged to halt. She looked behind her and saw Melissa bending over with her hands on her knees. “Everything okay?”

             Melissa looked up at Claudia astonished. “Are you training for the Olympics? This is supposed to be a light jog, sweetie, not a marathon.”

             Claudia looked down at her Mickey-Mouse watch. Although they’ve been “jogging” for an hour and a half, they’re covered nearly a third of Beacon Hills. For a couple of thirteen year olds, they hauled ass.

          “Sorry,” Claudia took a deep breath. “I guess I got distracted.”

          “Well, I guess that was the point.” Melissa stood up, clutching her side. “Ow. Ow.”

          “You okay?” Claudia smiled.

          “No, you sick chiquita.”

           Claudia laughed. She walked over to Melissa and put her arm over Claudia’s shoulders. “My house isn’t that far. Think you can make it?”

          “Can I take a shower and borrow some clothes?”

           “Of course.”

                “Then yes, I can make it.”

                It took a half hour to get off the main road and down the gravel road that can easily be overlooked given the overgrown foliage. A mile down the gravel road was a pale yellow farm house with a white wrap-around porch with white trimming and shutters. In the small lot beside the farm house were several cars.

                “Expecting company?” Melissa asked. She was walking on her own now, but she was still slow.

                “Uh,” Claudia looked around confused. “Katherine has lessons with Doctor Deaton four times a week. I don’t know who else is here.”

                “Your sister gets waitressing lessons from a veterinarian?”

                “Not really,” Claudia muttered. She helped Melissa up the porch steps. She opened the door and nudged Melissa inside. “You know where the stairs are. I’ll make some sandwiches.”

                “No mayo, please,” Melissa asked as she bear-crawled up the stairs.

                Claudia unzipped her red hoodie and kicked off her tennis shoes. “When have I ever put mayo on a sandwich?”

                “Every time you make sandwiches for other people.”

                Claudia mimicked her silently as she walked towards the kitchen. When she turns the corner, a boy roughly Piper’s age was sitting on the kitchen counter eating a red apple. He wore dark wash jeans and a red v-neck, long sleeve shirt. His hair was black and scruffy; it looked hardly combed, but run through with his fingers. His lips were full and his eyes a deep blue. He slowly took another bite of his apple as Claudia cautiously walked in.

                “Nice hood, little red,” The boy smirked around the mouthful of apple. For a moment, his eyes shifted from lovely blue to a warm, golden brown.

                “Said the big, bad wolf.”

                The boy winked and took another bite of his apple.

                [Katherine was 18; Piper was 16; Claudia was 13; and Penelope was 10.]

**[1985]**

                Piper received her powers after accidentally hitting a deer with Katherine’s car. The window was smashed and the deer was dying, but other than serious shock, Piper was unharmed. Being the kind hearted girl she was, she stumbled out of her car and began crying over the animal. The deer was making terrible noises in its pain.

                In the confusion of her shock, her tears, and the overall terribleness of the situation, Piper doesn’t really remember how it happened. She remembered a warmth emitting from her hands as she held onto the dying deer. Moments later, the deer was fighting her grasp and soon leapt away seemingly unharmed.

                When she explained all this to Doctor Deaton, a smile broke over his face. He told her that she was a born healer. Healing as a power means the ability to restore an individual to full health or an object to pristine condition. The trigger for this power is love, its counterpart power is hate. A warm golden light will shine from the healer’s hands as they heal injuries and wounds on others; it also mends their torn clothes. This ability has also been shown to heal objects as well and seems to counteract and remove poisons. Healing also cures illnesses and maladies, although illnesses with mental reasons can't be cured through healing.

               There are exceptions however, such as the inability to heal self-inflicted wounds and impossible to heal dark- or evil-supernatural creatures. Healing steams from love, and since the Dark Ones feel no love, they cannot be healed.

                After graduating Beacon Hills High, she took a job helping Dr. Deaton in his clinic while she took nursing courses at the local college. Although it seemed she preferred a mundane, human life, whenever she was called on a supernatural matter, she came willingly.

**COLE FAMILY HOME**

                 The strange boy eating an apple in the kitchen turned out to be Talia Hale’s much younger brother, Peter. For over two years while Katherine, and then Piper, received their lessons from Dr. Deaton and council from Talia Hale, Peter would find some reason to tag along to see Claudia.

                The first time Peter met Claudia was by pure accident. He didn’t want to be stuck at home babysitting, so he asked Talia if her could tag along and meet the witch that would become his pack’s emissary. His was slightly disappointed; he thought Katherine Cole, a witch descending from a long line of powerful women, would be more like what Talia said her mother, Eleanor, was. Katherine was a far cry from that – she was impatient, bossy, and wanted everything to be done perfectly the first time. And she deeply mistrusted were-creatures, especially wolves.

                Peter took that as a personal offense. He had to excuse himself for a snack before he made her into one.

                That’s when he met “Little Red”, as Peter has affectionately come to call her. Although there will always be a three year gap between them, they started off as friends before growing into something more. He’d come over with Talia for every lesson and wait for Claudia in the kitchen, eating an apple.

                 And over the next couple of years, Claudia found herself growing more and more attached to Peter. First as a curious kid, then as a friend before seeing him as an older brother. She’d find herself looking forward to Piper’s boring lessons just to hang out and chat with Peter. She could sense Peter was waiting for something from her, but she could not tell what.

               [Katherine was 20; Piper was 18; Claudia was 15; and Penelope was 12.]

**[1986]**

                Peter Hale was Claudia’s first kiss.

                Since Katherine and Piper were busy with their studies or work, Peter volunteered to teach Claudia to drive. It was an orange Chevy pick-up truck with two doors and a very spacious flatbed. After teaching her to drive automatic, it took a few days and great patience on Peter’s parts, but Claudia got the hang of driving stick-shift.

                After school one day, Claudia was standing around, talking with Melissa, when Peter’s Chevy pulled up. Claudia could see him reach across the seats and push open the passenger door. A grin spread across her face.

                “I’ll catch up with you later, Mel.” Claudia said.

                “I thought we were heading to my place to study?”

                “Rain check!” Claudia shouted over her shoulder as she jogged to Peter’s truck. She threw her bag into the flatbed and climbed inside the cab. The door was barely shut when Peter took off. Peter drove for a few minutes to get out of the school zone before pulling over on the side of the rode.

                “What are you doing?” Claudia asked as Peter got out of the car. He walked around the hood of the car and opened up the passenger door.

                “Scoot over already.”

                Claudia did so and shut the driver’s door. Peter shut his door as he climbed in. “I want to show you something.”

                “Then why aren’t you driving?”

                “Because you need the practice.” Peter winked at her. He easily dodged Claudia as she tried to slap his arm.

                Claudia turned the ignition and pulled out onto the road. “Where to?”

                “Keep straight until the one-nine.”

                They were soon out of the town limits. Lawns and houses were quickly replaced by thick underbrush and green covered trunks. Claudia took the left onto one-nine. The back road was hardly paved, gravel and twigs spread as they made their way through.

                “Straight until the dead end.”

                “What’s at the dead end?”

                Peter ignored her question and continued to drum him fingers on his leg to the beat of the music coming from the cassette tape. Twenty minutes later, the gravel road ended, forming a small, rectangular lot. Claudia cut the engine.

                “And we’re here because…”

                “Because there’s a trail.” Peter tapped his window as he unbuckled. Claudia leaned against the steering wheel to see past Peter. Off to the side, slightly hidden by overgrown trees, was a small trail.

                “We’re hiking?”

                “Don’t worry. It’s only five miles.”

                Claudia rolled her eyes as she stepped out. It was a warm day and they had miles of hiking to do, so she unzipped her red hoodie and tossed it in the flatbed with her bag. She wore a light, sleeveless shirt and shorts with her tennis shoes. She heard his door shut and looked over to see Peter taking off is jacket too.

                Claudia was making her way towards the trail when Peter whistled. She turned around. He grinned and nodded his head in the other direction. “This way.”

                “The trails over here.” Claudia pointed out, confused.

                “Never said we were taking the trail.” He held out his hand for her to take. When she wouldn’t, he add, “I promise I wont let you get lost.”

                “This isn’t some weird werewolf virgin sacrifice thing, right?”

                Peter gave a mocking smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

                Claudia took his hand and they were off. The way was mostly flat, and Peter held aside the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for her. Whenever fallen trees or boulders obstructed the path, he would gently lift her by the elbow, his fingers lingering there before letting go. His touch was always unnaturally warmer, a side effect from being a werewolf.

                For the most part, they walked in silence. Peter asked about Claudia’s school friends and if someone had caught her eye. Peter wouldn’t directly look at her while he fished for information. When she told him that one of her friends, Bobby Finstock, might have a more than small crush on her, she noticed his jaw clench and the vein in his forehead tick slightly. She kept her smile to herself as Peter asked if she felt the same way about this “Fish-stock” guy. She coyly said no, that there’s someone else on her mind. The jealousy was unmistakably there, underneath his calm tone, when he asked who it was. Claudia ignored the question and kept walking.

               After some silence, Peter occasionally asked random questions – Claudia’s favorite number, if she preferred cats or dogs, Star Wars or Star Trek. The hike took most of the afternoon, but he never seemed to run out of questions. They finally settled into a game where after he’s asked a question and she’s answered it, then their rolls would switch.

              The forest spread out around them in a labyrinth of dark green trees. Claudia began to feel nervous that they would get lost and never be able to find their way out again. Peter would probably be fine with that. He was perfectly at ease on the trail, comfortable in the woods, never having showing doubt about their direction. The only thing he hated was the bugs.

              After several hours, the light bleeding through the canopy shifted from a bright jade to a murky olive. Claudia’s impatience turned to excitement when she spotted a break in the trees a head. Roughly a hundred years away, yellow light broke through the trees.

             “Almost there,” Peter commented. He let her lead the way now that it was clean, straight shot.

             She stopped at the edge of the leafy barrier, the tips of her toes crossing into the pool of light. She could feel Peter behind her. Without looking back to him, she asked, “What’s behind the leaves?”

             “A surprise.”

             “That isn’t much help,” Claudia murmured. She took a deep breath and slowly pulled back the green wall of vines hanging down from the trees above. She stepped forward into a small clearing. It was no bigger than a small bedroom, completely round, with tall grass that came up to her knees. Creating a border between the dense forest and the clearing were soft white tulips. Laid out in the center of the clearing was a wicker picnic basket and a blanket.

             Peter watched her expression carefully as she walked farther into the clearing. Happiness bubbled inside him when her eyes lit up and her grin stretched ear to ear. He walked up behind her and whispered in her ear, “What do you think?”

            “I think it’s amazing that you found this in the first place.”

           “I made it, actually.” She turned to him, stunned. “Well, not just me. Me and my brothers and my father. We wanted a place to get away from everything and play as pups for a little bit. We cleared out all the trees, my mother and Talia planted the tulips. We don’t come her as often as we used to a pups….come to think of it, I think I’m the only one who actually remembers where it is.”

         “Lucky for us,” Claudia smiled up at him. He smiled back.

          They ate a late lunch/early dinner of hot dogs, watermelon, a chilled peanut butter and chocolate cups. He made fun of her for putting relish on her hot dog so she threw one of his precious peanut butter cups. He was able to get up and run after it faster than Claudia was able to process what was happening. He jogged back over to the blanket with a triumphant smile on his face and the unharmed peanut butter cup in his hand.

          Noticing Claudia’s expression had changed, Peter cautiously asked, “Did I scare you?”

          “What? No.” She shook her head and took a bite of her hot dog. A piece of relish fell off and landed on the blanket. She swiped it off with the back of her hand.

          Peter could feel something was troubling her so he kept starring at her. He knew when she became uncomfortable enough, she’ll tell him. Within a minute, she squirmed.

          “Okay, stop staring at me.” Peter flipped the peanut butter cup into his mouth as a sign of victory. “I was just wondering what you looked like. As a wolf, I mean.”

          He stopped mid-chew. “Why would you wanna see that?”

                She shrugged and went back to her hot dog. “No reason. Just forget I said anything.”

                “You really want to see what I look like when I’m not…me?”

                “Not if you don’t want me to, Peter.” Claudia was becoming defensive.

                “No, no, it’s not that…” Peter shifted. He crossed his legs underneath him and sat facing her. “It’s not a pretty sight, Claudia. Once you see what I am, there is no going back from it.”

                “I won’t change anything, Peter.” Claudia said confidently.

                “You’d be surprised,” Peter mumbled underneath his breath. He looked up at Claudia and asked, “Are you sure you want to see? Fair warning, if you run off screaming, my vanity might be too wounded to come looking for you.”

                Claudia giggled. Peter let a smile creep over his face as he scooted backwards from her. She cocked her head in confusion.

                “Just a precaution.”

                Peter closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, taking deep breaths to relax. His breathing went from relaxing to labored as he began to breathe heavier and faster. His chest rose and fell seconds after one another, almost as if he were hyperventilating. His hands balled into fists at his side. His eyes squeezed tighter, his brow pinched, and his mouth thinned into two white lines.

                From where Claudia sat, it looked extremely painful. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but some part of her, in the back of her mind, warned her to leave him be. So she sat with her knees pulled up against her chest and waited for the transformation to complete.

                Peter rolled his head. His ears lengthened and become pointed, and hair sprouted from his jawline. When he opened his mouth, his canine teeth elongated into fangs. His shirt stretched over the tight muscles and broad shoulders underneath. Once the transformation was complete, his face smoothed out and his hands unbaled from fists.  There were tufts of hair on his hands and his fingers were skinny and boney, the nails turned into razor sharp claws. His eyes remained close.

                Claudia was shocked. As a part of her lessons in magical history and creatures, she’s seen many depictions of werewolves; however, she couldn’t get used to seeing Peter this way. He sat perfectly still a few feet away from her; his hands on his knees, back straight, eyes closed. Since he was a werewolf, Peter’s senses were magnified. Claudia wondered if he was listening to her frantic heartbeat and chose to remain still so he wouldn’t frighten her.

                Claudia kept still as well, resting her chin on her knees, unwilling to take her eyes off him. At first glance, werewolf Peter was as frightening as human Peter’s gift of manipulation, but if you looked deeper, there was innocence in his features that only humanized him.

                Keeping her eyes fixed on Peter, she hesitantly crawled closer to him. She folded her legs underneath her a couple inches from where he sat, causing Peter to stiffen. She slowly reached out one finger and stroked the back of his course hand. She kept her eyes on Peter’s face, watching for any sign that he was uncomfortable or lethal. Peter is always lethal, in his own way, but as a werewolf, he had the brute strength to back him up.  When she gathered enough courage, she went from making soothing circles on the back of his hand to traveling down to his claws. They felt like bone, yet were as smooth as a knife’s blade.

                Claudia looked down at his hands for a moment and when she looked back up, Peter’s eyes were open and watching hers. They were honey-brown with a warm golden glow behind them. They were searching hers.

                “I-I don’t scare you?” He asked. Claudia knew it was his voice, but it came out of a mouth with fangs that could tear her apart in seconds. It was a lot to get used to, but she knew it was him.

                “No more than usual,” she said playfully, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile. When he smiled, he bared fangs. She let go of his hand and reached out for his forearm. She pulled back her trembling fingers before she touched him. She looked up at him. “May I?”

                He nodded his head, closing his eyes again. She lightly trailed her fingers over the defined muscles of his arm, following the stitching pattern for his shirt to the inside the crease at his elbow. With her other hand, she reached to turn his other hand over. Realizing what she wanted, Peter flipped his palm up in one smooth motion. It startled her; her fingers freezing on his arm.

                “Sorry,” the corners of his mouth twitched.

                Claudia took his hand, tracing patterns on the inside with index finger. She moved her other hand slowly up his arm and rested on the curve between his neck and shoulders. Her eyes flickered to his face, but his eyes were still closed. She lifted her hand from his neck and placed it on his cheek. Slowly, she caressed his cheek, delicately stroked his eyelid, the black shadows underneath his eyes. She traced the scrunched lines on his brow, traveling down to his nose, then to his lips. She traced around them before carefully running her thumb across them. She felt Peter’s hot breath warm her fingertips.

                They sat like that for nearly an hour – Peter immobile while Claudia traced patterns into his hand with one hand while the other hand delicately outlined the features of his face. Peter’s free hand lifted from his leg and gently pulled Claudia’s hand away from his face. His eyes were open and a dark look rolled into his eyes.

                “Can I try something?”

                “Like what?” She breathed back. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, the fangs still sticking out. The limited air between them seemed to crackle.

                His rough hands gently framed her face. His eyes were heated, but cautious. He bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers. She was too stunned to respond; the movement was so smooth and sudden that it took her by surprise. He stopped at her lack of response and lifted his mouth from hers a fraction while his eyes sought hers. He was looking for any sign that she wanted him to stop. He saw in her eyes her surprise shift into warmth, heard her heart beat increase, and took it as a sign to continue.

                He placed his rough, calloused thumbs on her jaw and gently urged her lips to part. Then he kissed her again. Her hesitation was short-lived. She shut her eyes and took in the moment. It was her first kiss and best of all, it was with Peter. He smelled like his musky aftershave and leather and his lips were warm and chapped.

                In an instant, Peter rolled them over and on to the ground. Claudia’s back was on the cool ground; Peter held himself over her with his hands locked in place on either side of her head. It was strange to feel Peter’s face shift effortlessly back to human as they kissed. What was stranger still was the heat she felt building up between them as his mouth moved expertly over hers. Suddenly, a roaring heat formed in her pelvis as Peter bent his arms to press himself closer to Claudia. She smoothed her hands against his chest and wrapped them around his neck.

                Peter lowered himself further, leaning on one forearm to move his hand to Claudia’s lower back. He pressed her closer to him and their kisses became hotter. They stayed like that for another hour, leaving evidence on each other’s necks, while the sun set behind them.

                After that night, Peter and Claudia began dating. At first, they decided to keep it secret from their respective sisters.  Katherine already mistrusts and dislikes werewolves, Piper would say Peter is too old (although he is Piper’s age), and Talia would keep a leash on him.

                They were able to keep it secret for almost two months, the only one who knew was Melissa Delgado. Peter thought that was smart someone beside their family knew, just in case he lost control and something happened. That didn’t keep Melissa from worrying anyway; she never felt right where Peter was concerned.

                Claudia told her sisters that after school, she and Melissa were going to grab dinner before heading back to Melissa’s to study. She told them it’ll be pretty late when she got in and that they shouldn’t wait up for her. The truth was Claudia was going to grab dinner and a movie with Peter in the city and asked Melissa to cover for her when Katherine inevitably called. Melissa reluctantly agreed. She had this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched Claudia gleefully jump into Peter’s truck.

                They never did get to the city. On their way there, Peter pulled off the main road and drove down to the gravel lot near the trail to the clearing. The little lot and his truck were quickly becoming their spot.

                Peter cut the engine and turned to her with a wicked smile. He suddenly reached over and pulled her across his lap so she straddled him. Being the (master) manipulator that he was, he’s been slowly getting her used to certain positions over the past couple weeks so when the time came when Claudia was ready, she’d know what to expect. The farthest they’ve gone was making out wearing just their jeans. A big step for Claudia, but she trusted Peter.

                His hands smoothed up her back and undid the zipper on her dress; in the same fluid motion he tugged on her shoulder straps, easing the material down her arms to reveal her full, perfect breasts. Not once did his mouth leave hers until then. His lips traveled down her neck to her breasts.

                “Peter,” she sighed, arching toward him while her hands thrust in his hair. 

                His hands slid up her dress skirt, gripping her thighs hard enough to make a soft bruise and pulled her against the bulging tightening his jeans as his head lowered and his mouth captured one of her nipples. He felt her hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt. He released her long enough to help, desperate to feel his bare skin on hers.

                Claudia had absolutely no resistance left in her and her confidence was growing. She placed her hand on his bare chest and trailed down until her hand found the bulge between them. She could feel the heat radiating through the strained jeans. This was her first time she was bold enough to touch him there. It wasn’t what she expected and it was a little frightening. When her hand covered it, she felt Peter’s breath hiss against her breast.

                He pulled his head back to lean against the headrest. Even in the darkness, she could see how dilated his eyes were. This is what desire must look like, she thought to herself. She moved her hand and he pinched his eyes shut. It was then she realized how much power she had at the moment. She smiled as she rubbed her palm down the considerable length of him causing his mouth to fall open and groan. The rigid feel of him was fascinating, yet also terrifying.

                He pulled her down to him and kissed her hard. She rocked her hips and pressed her palm against him. He let out another groan against her mouth. Somehow in the heat of the situation, she found herself whispering against his lips, “Let me see.” Just in case he didn’t know what she was talking about, she pressed again.

                “No. Not yet. Not like this-” Peter’s restraint was already at its limits.  

                “Please, Peter,” Claudia breathed in his ear as she pulled his head towards her breasts. She faintly heard him mumble “this is insane”, followed by the faint click of his belt buckle then the distinct rasp if his zipper. Peter had to hand it to himself, he taught her good.

                Peter was about to pull it out when a pair of headlights shown through the back of the car, reflecting off the rearview mirror. The pair clung to each other, motionless.

                “Can you see who it is?” Peter whispered. He already began slowly zipping up the back of her dress.

                Claudia had to squint her eyes to focus. The headlights of the car behind them we blinding. A figure got out of the driver’s side and began walking towards the truck. The figure was a few feet behind the truck when Claudia recognized her.

                “Holy shit!” Claudia rolled herself off of Peter and pulled her dress on properly. “It’s Katherine!”

                “God damn it!” Peter whispered.

                He had just enough time to zip up his pants before his door flew open and him with it. Claudia heard the thump of him landing on the ground. She forced her door open and nearly fell over herself trying to get out. She ran around the front of the car in time to see Katherine using her telekinesis, channeled through her hand, to lift Peter off the ground and slam him against the side of the truck and hold him there.

                “Katherine! Stop it, you’re hurting him!” Claudia yelled.  She ran over to her sister and tried shoving her, but Katherine used her powers to hold Claudia back. “Katherine, stop it!”

                “Get in the car, Claudia.” Katherine demanded. When she wouldn’t move, Katherine used her powers to force her towards the car. When Claudia was in the car, Katherine locked all the doors. Claudia could do nothing else but bang and the windows and yell for her sister not to hurt Peter. She saw Katherine release Peter from her hold on him. He dropped to his knees on the ground, his hand cupping his throat while he leaned over coughing. She said something to him, but Claudia was too far away to hear.

                A moment later, Katherine was in the car and they were driving away.

                “What the hell was that?!” Claudia screamed.

                Katherine pressed her foot on the gas pedal harder. Her face was tight and rigid as she drove, her eyes fixed on the road. “Do you know what could have happened tonight if I hadn’t have shown up?” she asked quietly.

                “I know exactly what could have happened-”

                “No, you don’t.” Katherine cut across. “You think you do, but you don’t have the slightest clue.” Claudia tried to speak, but Katherine cut her off again, raising her voice, “He’s a werewolf, Claudia! A god damn werewolf!”

                “That has nothing to do with-”

                “That has everything to do with this! You know nothing, Claudia, you’re just a kid. A stupid, reckless, little girl who thought it would be fun to have a secret werewolf boyfriend and not tell anyone where they were going. Melissa called us up and told us everything-”

                “What?!”

                “She was in tears on the phone! She was worried out of her mind-”

                “She didn’t have the right-”

                “Dammit, Claudia!” Katherine pounded her hand on the steering wheel. “He could’ve hurt you; he could’ve killed you; he could’ve….” She let her sentence trail off. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Being a born werewolf, Peter has more instinct, more animal-like urges, to control. With training and practice, he can control them, but not as well as a full-grown, adult werewolf can. During a hunt, or a kill, or danger, or passion, he will lose himself. He will give into the beast and give into instinct. It doesn’t matter what’s going on around him, all that matters is that…he gets what he wants.” She took another deep breath and glanced over at Claudia. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

                Claudia was beginning to understand, but she shook her head.

                “What you were doing back in his truck was dangerous, especially since you never told anyone where you were going. Kissing turns into making out and before you know it, you’re both half naked. In the middle of all that heat and emotion and raw energy, Peter could have easily lost himself. He could have given into the animal inside him without even realizing. If that happened, he’s want more than what you’re giving, but when you say “no”, he won’t be listening. He won’t care. You’ll fight him as hard as you can, you’ll keep saying “no, no, no”, but that won’t matter. He’s beyond reason now. He’d hold you down to keep from fighting too much and then-”

                “And then he’d hurt me….” Claudia finished softly, knowing where this was going.

                “He’d get what he wants without regard for anything else.” Katherine added just as softly. “Just like an animal.”

                Claudia looked over to see Katherine’s hands gripping the wheel as hard as she could to keep from shaking. Behind the anger in her face was pure terror. Claudia reached over and took one of Katherine’s hands off the steering wheel and held it tight.

                “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

                “Not just me,” Katherine breathed. She was trying to control her breathing. “You’ll have hell to pay when Piper gets hold of you.”

                “Not if you don’t tell her I’m home,” Claudia playfully pleaded.

                Katherine chuckled. “Fat chance.”

                The rest of the ride home was silent. They were parking in the driveway when Claudia spoke up. “Is that why you don’t like werewolves? Because they can’t always be in control?”

                Katherine put on a strained smile. “That and they don’t smell that great.”

                After that night in the truck and Katherine’s warning, Claudia was able to evade Peter for a while. She started returning smiles to Bobby Finstock and mend her relationship with Melissa. Like any stupid, teenage girl, she wanted to be with Peter; but that was quickly followed by her female independence kicking her in the ass and telling her she was smarter than her emotions. Peter was one guy out of how many millions and she was only sixteen; with the rate modern medicine was going, she’d live to be in her late nineties. Now how many men could she meet and bed within those eighty-something years ahead of her? She told herself Peter was dangerous, that he couldn’t always control himself, and that she needed to forget about him.

                That little pep-talk seemed to get her through, in theory. But when she spotted Peter leaning against his truck on the side of the road she usually jogs on, it failed in practical application. She jogged right up to him, pushed him against his car, as kissed the hell out of him.

                He was pleasantly surprised by her reaction. He wanted to talk but now that is way out of the ball-park. He was about to get into it when she pulled away from his lip, but still held on to him. Her lips were red, her breathing heavy and covered in sweat from the jogging, and her eyes were bright.

                “That was a mistake,” she panted.

                “Not from where I’m standing.” Peter smiled. He bent his head down to kiss her again, but she took a step back.

                “No,” she shook her head and gestured to each other. “No, this-this can’t happen.”

                “Why not?” Peter’s confusion began to shift into anger. “Because you big sister told you not to? When are you going to start living for yourself, Claudia?”

                “She told me you were dangerous, Peter. That you could lose control and not even realize it if we….if we-”

                “If we have sex?” Peter blurted out. “It’s just a three letter word.”

                “But it’s not, Peter! It is so much more than that.”

                “Are you speaking from your years of experience?” He asked mockingly. Claudia scoffed and shook her head. “Yeah, werewolves tend to lose themselves in passion, and in danger, and in the hunt. That’s true. But you know what else is true that your all-knowing sister forgot to mention, that werewolves keep their mind. When we slip and give into the instinct, when know what the hell we’re doing. We’re aware of our action, of our consequences, of every god damn thing.” Peter leaned back against his truck, hiding the hurt in his voice. “I would never hurt you, with or without control. Maybe if you would have talked to me, the actual werewolf, and let me explain rather than avoiding me for a month…”

                Claudia sighed. She walked up to him and placed her hands on his chest. She bent her head and kissed his heart. When she looked up, she saw just how much she’s hurt him.

                “Just talk to me, okay?” He asked, cupping her face with his hand. “Promise me you’ll never stop talking to me.”

                “I promise.”

                “Good,” he smiled and turned them so that Claudia was gently pushed against the truck. Peter brought his body against hers. He cupped her face and brought his lips down to hers, whispering against them, “Where were we?”

                “Right here,” she whispered back and kissed him.

                Her heart rate sped up and she began to feel warm all over. One of his hands slid down her ribcage to her hip. His other hand remained on her cheek. She could feel the thud of his heart vibrate against her chest and the heat of his body. Her hands slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck. He slid a hand down her upper thigh and gently lifted it up to his hip while pushing himself closer to her.

                Soon, a car drove by, blaring its horn, reminding them they were out in the open. They began laughing as they untangled themselves from each other. Peter took her home and explained everything to Katherine. Although she still dislike werewolves, she agreed Claudia could see him.

                [Katherine was 21; Piper was 19; Claudia was 16; and Penelope was 13]

**[1987]**

**COLE FAMILY HOME**

                Peter and Claudia were cuddled up on the couch, watching the Ireland v. France soccer game. It was a rainy day in Ireland, but the sloshing field didn’t seem to hinder the game.

                Claudia knew nothing about Soccer and could care less about the sport. She only watched for the tight-fitting shirts, enticing glimpses of chest hair, and socks and shorts that emphasized muscular legs. Peter could care less what they looked like. Not five minutes into the game, he was shouting and cheering and cursing. When they crowd on the TV roared, Peter got to his feet, shouting.

                While Peter watching the closing commentary, Claudia cleaned up the living room. She put the chips away, cleaned the sauce bowl, and recycled the beer bottles. Katherine was more of a wine person, so Peter brought beer from his place. Claudia drank half of hers and Peter downed two.

                Claudia felt arms wrap around her waist from behind and kiss her neck under her hair. “What time does your family get home?”

                “Katherine’s working the night shift and won’t be back until late, Piper’s staying in the city tonight because early classes, and Penelope is at a friend’s.” She leaned back and smiled up at him. “Why?”

                He nuzzled her cheek. She closed her eyes, a shiver traveling down her breastbone. He wanted sex, and she knew it. Wanted it, craved it. She couldn’t lie to herself; she wanted him back. They’ve been together a little over a year and Peter begrudgingly accepted to wait until she was at seventeen. Knowing Katherine, she’d claim statutory rape and get Peter locked up. Now that Claudia was seventeen, they had no excuses.

                Peter nipped Claudia’s ear. “Upstairs.”

                Claudia took Peter’s hand and led him to the staircase. As they went up, the television relived the glory of the game. Once inside her room, he turned to her and pushed her back against the door, bringing his mouth down on hers possessively. He reached down and easily lifted her off her feet to carry her to his bed. He kneeled in the center, laid her down, and brought his weight down on top of her while taking her mouth again.

                 He pulled back and knelt on the bed, wasting no time skimming his shirt over his head. His chest rose with his quick breath, strong bone and muscle under tight, smooth skin. A thin line of black hair led a trail from his belly button to what was beneath his low riding jeans. Those jeans came off a little slower than his shirt but only because he had to unzip them.

                As he was undressing, so was Claudia. She hastily undid the buttons on her shirt, unclasped her bra, and pulled them both off simultaneously. She tossed the lacy garment aside with the rest of Peter’s clothes. She unbuttoned her jeans and the zipper went down. She leaned back on the bed, lifted her hips, and slid the jeans slid past her butt. Cool air touched her thighs.

                Peter helped ease her jeans to her ankles, kissing his way down her abdomen as he did so. He stopped just shy of the top of her underwear. He tugged her jeans off and threw them over his shoulder with a smile.

                It was just the two of them in her dimly lit bedroom, sitting on her bed in their underwear; the bright moonlight shown faintly through the curtained windows, illuminating their faces.

                She moved her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers in his hair. She tightened her fingers in his hair painfully as he flattened her out on the mattress and moved himself between her thighs. She fit perfectly under him, soft and supple. He nudged her legs apart and moved his hardness against her belly. He found her aggressiveness a turn on and it took some willpower not to lose his patience and plunge into her.

               He started moving on top of her chest and abdomen with fevered kisses. His hardness pressed her abdomen. She slid her head down the front of his boxer shorts and closed it around his cock.

                She was always impressed with how enormous he was. The shaft pressed her palm, moving a little with his pulse. His skin was hot with need. She rubbed her thumb over his tip, feeling it slick. His eyes glowed golden yellow and he growled low in his throat.

                “Don’t you dare shift while I’m holding you.” Claudia squeezed his shaft, and Peter let out a soft groan. “That’s too weird.”

                “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned.

                 Peter kissed his way down her neck and licked up between her breasts, and Claudia’s thoughts ceased being coherent. His strong hands moving to the nape of her neck and holding her there. When he lifted up and away from her, his other hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her hand away from his cock. 

                 “Just a second,” He leaned down and kissed her belly. “I need to get my boxers off.”

                 He pulled his off and tossed them. He forced his index finger nail into a claw and cut her panties off of her. He hovered over her, his fingers finding the moisture between her thighs. She gasped, arching into his hand. She wrapped her legs around him, causing him to growl roughly.

                Peter eased back from the long kiss, both of them breathing faster. He softened his grip on her neck, caressing a little as though in apology.

                “I’m not going to lie, it will hurt.”

                Claudia touched her forehead to Peter’s and winked. “I’m pretty tough.”

                Another growl came from his throat. “I can’t promise that I can hold back. I’ve never done this before.”

                Claudia started giggling. “Wait, you’re a virgin?”

                Peter gave her a dark look. He moved his fingers inside her and she gasped. He whispered huskily in her ear, “What do you think?” He pulled back and said, “I’ve never slept with a human.”

                He kissed her, at the same time shifting his hips so that his tip rested against her opening. He leaned forward a little, getting her used to his size, before plunging in all at once. She felt a sharp pain rivet through her. She closed her eyes tightly, her head going back to cry out. Peter was big, but she was wet enough for him to slid in smoothing.

                Peter’s hard face softened, his eyes briefly flashing golden before switching to blue. He made a raw noise as his warm hands clenched the covers on either side of her.  He stayed still inside of her, waiting for her to relax. He kissed her wet cheek.

                “It’s done. Pain’s over.” He kissed her again. He lifted his hips and slide further into her. She winced. “Pain’s over.”

                Claudia nodded and took a deep breath as it began to subside. She teased him about being a “virgin”, but Peter obviously knew what he was doing. Her senses seemed to over load – the fiery heat from where they joined, the sting of pain quickly fading away. He smelled of sex and himself. His chest shone with sweat; his jaw was dark with unshaved whiskers that darkened as he dipped his head down, eyes closing in ecstasy.

                Claudia tilted her head up and kissed him, faintly tasting Dorito cheese and beer. He moved on hand to her waist, gripping tight to push himself forward, pressing himself ever deeper inside her. Her head lolled back and moaned.

                “See?” He whispered.

                Their lips met then parted. He was holding himself back with effort, she sensed through her haze of pleasure. In the back of her mind, she wondered what he would be like not holding back.

                Sweat trickled down her skin. Peter gripped her waist and slowly rocked his hips until he felt her arch towards him. He pumped into her with strong trusts, sending rivers of pleasure through her.

                “ _Peter.”_  She sighed. She lifted her head and dug her nails into his shoulders.

                Peter growled. He lifted himself above her by placing his hands on either side of her head to get better momentum. He seized her mouth. She lifted her hips eagerly to meet his thrusts. They were both panting, both groaning, Peter’s face flushed, eyes half closed. The muscles in his arms and shoulders played as he made love to her.

                Peter knew Claudia was close by the tightening of her thighs on his waist and the force of her nails down his back. Claudia’s orgasm, when it came, was nothing like she thought it would be. The world went away except for the incredible feeling that pierced her where they joined. Nothing mattered, nothing existed, only the two of them, their sweating bodies sealed together and the madness ripping through them. Her throat ached, but Peter was quiet as he thrust the final few times.

                Before she could blink, Peter pulled out of her and unloaded his semen on her stomach. It was scalding hot and slick. His mouth covered hers and he finished. He finally collapsed on top of her, panting as though he’d never find his breath again.

                When their breathing slowed, Peter rolled off her, but pulled her to his chest. He kissed her hair. “You okay?”

                She skimmed her lips over his chest. “Perfect.”

                This was happiness. Big-smile-on-her-face, heart-swelling happiness. Claudia kissed him, his lips hard and warm. She never knew such happiness was possible. Peter held her close.

                It was Peter Claudia first loved and it was with Peter she had her first heart break.

                Melissa began joining Claudia on her evening runs since try-outs for the softball team began. Melissa’s been on the softball team since starting high school, but fitness requirements were getting more strict.

                It was on their run, in the back woods on the outskirts of town, they spotted Peter’s truck. It was their usual running path, so he must’ve been waiting for her. Melissa rolled her eyes.

“I- I’ll be over here,” Melissa panted. She walked over to a tree and leaned against it. “Over here if you need me.”

                “Probably not,” Claudia smiled.

                “I’m leaving if you climb into that truck.” Melissa warned, pointing at her.

                 “I’m just going to say hey.” Claudia walked across the street toward the truck. The windows were dark tinted so she couldn’t just peek in the window. She pushed up her sports bra and put a grin on her face.

                 When she opened the door, she wasn’t expecting what she saw. A half-naked girl saddled Peter in the driver’s seat, her skirt covering up their crotches as she rode him wildly. Both their heads were thrown back and their eyes golden; fangs out, nails dug into each other. She was a werewolf, too. With his head lolled back against the head rest, she could see the smile on his face.

                 Claudia stood there like a fool, her mouth wide open, gripping the door for support. The girl riding him stopped in the middle of Peter’s climax when she spotted Claudia. She growled and Peter lazily looked over.

                When he saw Claudia, he tried throwing the girl off of him, but she started laughing. HE tried bucking her off, but she rode him out. Claudia slammed the door and started running as fast as she could.

               “Claudia!” Melissa yelled after her. “Claudia, what happened? Wait, slow down!”

               Melissa started sprinting after her, but Peter caught up first. He would have caught up sooner if he didn’t have to pull on his underwear and jeans. He was shirtless and barefoot when he caught up with her; she could see the nail marks the other woman left.

                Peter tried calling after her, but she wouldn’t stop. He tapped into his feelings and kicked it up a notch. He grabbed her arm, but with more force than he meant to so she cried out when he yanked her to a standstill. Claudia tired fighting him, but he was too strong for her. She kicked, she hit, she cursed at him, but he wouldn’t let up. She began crying at the pain in her arms and in her heart.

                “Claudia-” He dodged a kick to his shins. “Claudia, listen to. Listen to me, I can explain. It’s not what it looked like-”

                “Not what it looked like?!” She screamed. She was finally able to break free of his grip. “You were fucking  your little werewolf friend in your car! Don’t try to tell me her riding your cock just happened. That is was a fucking accident. Because it wasn’t, Peter!”

                Claudia tried turning away, but Peter gripped her upper arm. He knew it would leave a nasty bruise, but he could care less.

                “She’s a pack friend from out of town. Talia wanted me to show her around Beacon Hills. We were talking and before I knew it we were parked and she was on top of me. I didn’t know what to do-”

                “You could keep it in your pants for starters!” Claudia yelled through her tears. They were beginning to pour down her cheeks. “You could say you have a fucking girlfriend! You could-”

                “I had no choice! She forced me-”

                She slapped him. Her eyes were filled with rage and her tone dripped with venom. “Don’t you dare claim rape to me, Peter Hale.”

                “Claudia,” Peter pleaded. He cupped her face with his hands. She tried to pull away, but his hands were strong. “I love you, Claudia. This was a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. She doesn't mean anything to me, alright? She doesn't mean anything. You – You are everything to me. Please, please just listen to me.”

                “No, no,” she shook her head. She didn't want to listen anymore. She trusted Peter with everything; Peter was her everything; but this….she could never, ever forgive cheating. Her father was a cheater and it killed her mother. Claudia could never understand why men cheated on women they say they love. That is, of course, if they never actually loved them. They say they did, but just used them for convenient sex.

                That’s what Claudia was….she was a convenience…an object to be used and discarded.

                Peter was still talking. Over his shoulder, Claudia could see Melissa sneaking up behind him with a thick log in her hands. She took a stance behind him and swung at Peter’s legs. They were knocked out from under him and he went down. He tried turning to Melissa, but she swung at his back. He went down and stayed down.

                Melissa held out her hand. Without hesitation, Claudia took it. They made it back to Claudia’s under record time. Katherine opened the door just in time for the girls to tumble through. Melissa laid on the ground, panting and clutching her sides. Claudia sunk down against a wall. She was covered in sweat and tears, shaking, and hyperventilating.

               Katherine tried to calm her down, but it took a while. Her hyperventilating turned into uncontrollable sobs. Katherine held her tight against her chest and rocked her back and forth, rubbing soothing circles in her back.

                 Piper came stomping down the stairs. She saw the state of the girls and her eyes went wide. She turned to Melissa. “What they hell happened?”

                “Attacked-” Melissa panted, shaking her finger towards Claudia.

                “What?!” Piper practically flew down the rest of steps and knelt in front of Claudia. She saw the heavy bruises on Claudia’s upper arms and on her wrists. She gingerly touched one and Claudia flinched.

                “We were on our usual path when we saw Peter’s truck.” Melissa said, her breathing manageable. “Claudia went over to say hello. When she opened the door, she saw Peter having sex with another girl. Claudia ran and Peter chased after. He grabbed her pretty hard when he caught up. I guess he tried explaining and she wouldn't have any of it. When I finally caught up, I hit him twice with a log and we ran.”

                  After Melissa went home, Katherine set to warding the house against Peter, and by extent all werewolves, and Piper healed the bruises.

                 “I’m sorry I can’t heal anything else,” Piper whispered, putting her hand over Claudia’s heart.

                The next day, Talia assured Katherine that Peter’s actions were unacceptable and that she will keep him away. Peter did manage to get Claudia alone in a hallway at the high school to explain himself, to seeking forgiveness. Claudia can’t force herself to forgive him anymore than she could force herself to stop loving him.

                She left Peter standing there, hurt and broken like he hurt and broke her.

                [Katherine was 22; Piper was 20; Claudia was 17; and Penelope was 14.]

**[1988]**

**DELGADO FAMILY HOME**

Claudia has been dating Bobby Finstock for a year and a half already. Claudia was Bobby’s first in everything – first girlfriend, first kiss, and the first woman to sleep with. Although he hated the nickname ‘Cupcake’, he would always love Claudia. And she would always feel guilty for not being able to return that love.

                It was Prom night when Claudia’s world flipped upside down and turned inside out.

                  Melissa and Claudia double-dated and practically spent the whole evening together. Towards the end, Bobby and Claudia were able to sneak away to a broom closet. It wasn’t their first time sleeping together, but it certainly was the most memorable, at least for Bobby. He told Claudia he loved her.

That night, Claudia spent the night at Melissa’s house, gossiping and sharing stories.

                Meanwhile at the Cole house, a rabid werewolf strung out on some sort of supernatural drug slaughters the Cole family.

                Claudia wakes up screaming and covered in sweat. Something was wrong…something was very wrong….

                “Wh-what is it?” Melissa mutters, sitting up in bed. She flicked on the bedside lamp and saw Claudia scrambling out of her side of the bed and scrounging around the floor for her clothes. She practically fell over putting her shoes on.

               “We need to go.”

               “Go?” Melissa checked the time on her bedside clock. “Go where? It’s two in the morning.”

                “Get up, Melissa!”  Claudia screamed. She grabbed her friend by the hand and dragged her down the stairs and stuffed her in the car.

                Claudia breaks about a dozen traffic laws speeding home. When they arrive, it’s surrounded by cop cars, ambulances, and animal control. She bolts out of the car and darts past the barricades, dodging cops as she went. Melissa was right on her heels.

               Claudia skid to a halt when she reached the porch. What she saw burned itself into her memory; she’ll be able to remember every detail of what she saw for years to come. Various parts of her sisters’ bodies where lying under bloodied white sheets on the porch. Claudia could hear screaming, but it was quiet. The world was fading and slowing down; she could no longer seem to hear anything except the soft screaming. She wanted to look away from their mangled corpses, but she was paralyzed.

               Screaming….so many screams…they’re dying….he’s killing them…

               Out of nowhere, a rough hand reached out from behind her and covered her mouth. It was then she realized it was her screams she was hearing. She was pulled back against the man’s chest and dragged off the porch. She stumbles and she falls, but Peter was there to hold her up.

              “I’ve got you,” He whispers in her ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

              When her legs give out, Peter picks her up and cradles her against his chest. She buries her head against his chest, her hands clutching him tightly. She was afraid that if she let go, she’d fall into darkness. The only thing keeping her from screaming again was Peter – his familiar scent, his warmth, his arms holding her.

             As Peter walked Claudia over to the nearest ambulance, he spotted Melissa crying into Bobby Finstock’s chest behind the small police barricade. Melissa tried reaching out for Claudia but a police officer stepped in front of her.

               Katherine was 23, Piper was 21, and little Penelope was only 15.

                Claudia passed out and the ambulance floor watching a team of corners stuff her sisters, limb by limb, into black bags.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

                Peter rides in the ambulance with Claudia to the hospital. Normally, he would have been kicked out, but the EMTs were too intimidated by him. From the ambulance to the curtained hospital bed in the E.R., Peter was with her the entire time, holding her hand. Melissa and Bobby arrived a while after that; then, Doctor Deaton.

                The Claudia’s doctor was informed by the police about what had happened. He chose to place Claudia in a temporary medical coma to give her mind time to process what had happened. Alan was awarded temporary medical decision making for Claudia and signed off on the medical coma.

                 The next morning, Talia Hale called a meeting with Alan to discuss Claudia.

                “Thank you for coming,” Talia greeted him at her front door.

                “Not like I could stay away, Talia.” Alan said wearily. As he followed her into her study, he noticed something extremely odd – the lack of noise. As long as Alan has known the Hale family, there has always been noise in the house whether it came from children playing, adults bickering, or just a radio playing in the background. There was none of that now, just silence.

                “Your house is quiet.” Alan remarked, taking a seat in her office. “That’s unusual.”

                “I have every able body of my pack at the Cole house, picking up scents or clues to whom might have done this. My sister-in-law and a few other human relatives took the kids into the city as a precaution.”

                Alan nodded. “And you’re sure this was a supernatural attack, not some wild animal?”

                “Andrew scouted out the house last night. He’s confidant it was a werewolf. The more the police are convinced it was a wild animal, the better our search will be.”

                “And has your pack found anything?”

                “Blood that doesn’t belong to the sisters, hairs, and a canine tooth.” Talia gave a small smile. “Those girls put up one hell of a fight. The house was completely destroyed inside.”

                “I have no worries that your pack will find the wolf.”

                “That isn’t what worries me. What worries me is what we do once we’ve found him. It isn’t our place to make that decision, its Claudia’s.”

                “Claudia is in no position to make any decisions at the moment. She’s been placed in a coma for the time being.”

                “You and I both know that if you wanted her awake, she’d be awake.” Talia leaned forward on her desk. “You are a Druid, Alan. Wake her up. It won’t be long until we have the wolf and she needs to be at peace when she makes her decision.”

                “Considering that decision will ultimately be death, it would be in Claudia’s best interest to let her come to terms with what has happened before you have her kill someone. She has lost her entire family, seen their mangled corpses. Don’t you think the girl needs to rest before she sees more?”

                “Let’s put the wolf aside for a moment.” Talia sighed. “Claudia is at her most vulnerable now more than ever. She is the last living Cole witch. Her family’s legacy, their power and responsibility rests upon her. Word of her sisters’ murder will soon spread throughout our community and you know better than anyone else that evil men and women will want to see her dead. Claudia no longer has the protection of her sisters and she has no powers of her own.” Talia got up and walked around her desk to sit in the arm chair besides Alan. “Waking her up is as simple as taking the needle out of her arm. What I am asking is if there is any way you can speed up Claudia acquiring her powers? She doesn’t have months to sit around and wait for it, not anymore.”

                Alan sat in silence for a moment. He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t know if it were possible. “It has never been done before.”

                “But there is a way, yes?”

                “Yes, but-”

                “It’s settled then.”

                “Talia, magic always has a price and it should never be used for personal gain.”

                “Is it personal gain if we’re trying to save her life?”

                It took a couple days to refine the potion, but once it was done, Talia insisted it be administered immediately. It was a clear, chemical compound no more than a thimble full. Peter guarded the door while Alan filled a syringe and gave it to Claudia.

                It only took a few minutes to take. The monitors began beeping rapidly, her heart rate increasing by the second.

                “Is that supposed to happen?” Peter asked. He was beginning to walk away from the door and towards the bed, but Alan shoved him back. Just in time too, the nurses came running to the door. Peter wolfed-out in his strength and held the door firmly shut.

                Alan held Claudia down as she began to convulse. White foam spat from her mouth and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. It was pure chaos in the room with Peter shouting at Alan, Alan furiously whispering under his breath, Claudia’s machines drowning out all other sound. Then suddenly it was all quiet. Claudia lay still in her bed, eyes wide open, her heart monitor flat lining.

                “Doctor…” Peter whispered. A shove against the door nearly knocked Peter on his ass. He slammed himself against the door harder. When he looked back at Alan, there was unmitigated rage seething from his golden eyes. “If she’s dead, I will rip out your lungs and feed them to you before shredding you to ribbons.”

                “As imaginative as that is, have patience.” Alan whispered. “Magic always has a cost and this is it.”

                “Her death is your price?!”

                “Wait-”

                “Bring her back or I’ll-”

                “Or you’ll what?”

                Just then, the monitors jumped back to life as Claudia shot up in the bed. Her heart was still racing and her breathing fast. Her eyes were darting around, wide with panic.

                “Claudia,” Alan said in a soothing tone. He came towards her with his hands open. “Claudia, it’s all right. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

                Claudia began screaming. She scrambled backwards against her pillows, pulling IVs out and the leads off of her chest. Peter wanted to pull away from the door but he slammed himself against it again, yelling,

                “What the hell did you do?!”

                “Wait! Wait, give her a moment,” Alan yelled back. He turned back the Claudia and took a step forward. He placed a hand on her leg –

                - and he froze his place with a flick of Claudia’s wrist. There Alan was, frozen in time at the foot of Claudia’s bed. Claudia was still as he was out of pure shock. Peter’s eyes were just as wide as hers.

                Wordlessly, Peter held out his hand. Claudia hesitated before climbing off the bed and taking it. When she moved away, Alan unfroze. At first he was confused, starring around, but then when he turned to Claudia and Peter, his confusion shifted to delight. His eyes lit up and a smile broke over his face.

                “Be ready to move fast.” Alan took Claudia’s other hand, sandwiching her between Peter and himself. “We need to move fast. Peter, push your way through if you must, but harm no one. Claudia, if you can, use your powers. I’ll explain everything once we reach the Hale house.”

                They all backed away from the door and it flew open. A handful of nurses and doctors tumbled through the doorway, some landing on the floor while others regained their balance.

                “Now,” Alan told Claudia. With a flick of her wrist, she once again froze the staff in place. Alan tapped Peter’s shoulder and they were off.

                Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Talia Hale’s study. Claudia was curled up in a ball in the corner of the couch, Peter stood protectively behind her, and Talia sat in her chair, waiting anxiously while Alan knelt in front of Claudia. He took her hand in his and looked up at her.

                “What did you do?” Claudia asked. “What’s happened?”

                “What do you remember?” Alan asked gently.

                “I-I remember waking up at Melissa’s. I had a nightmare that…that something bad had happened. I didn’t think there was anything to it, but the feeling, it was, it was overwhelming. Like a flood of icy black water was surrounding me. I couldn’t breathe.” Peter put a hand on her shoulder for comfort. Claudia reached up and held on, squeezing. She took a deep breath and continued. “I grabbed Melissa, got in the car, and drove home. When I got there….when I got there I saw….”

                “You can skip that part, sweetie.” Talia said gently.

                “What did you do while I was sleeping? I-I don’t turn eighteen for a couple of weeks. I shouldn’t have my powers...” She looked down at Alan. “What did you call it?”

                “Molecular Immobilization,” Alan pronounced carefully. “It’s more commonly referred to as freezing. It’s the ability to slow down molecules to the point where they move so slowly that objects and people appear completely motionless. You originally triggered the power by panicking or being scared, flicking your hands into the air and you "freeze" your target.”

                “IS that the only thing that triggers it?”

                “Currently, I’d say fear, frustration, or panic, but with practice, you’ll be able to do it at the drop of a hat.”

                “Again,” Claudia squeezed his hand. “Why do I have it now?”

                “We, uh,” Talia glanced nervously at Alan. “We felt the need to…speed up…the process. Word has begun to spread of your family’s massacre. People who know of your family’s history, of their power and influence, will want to see it completely destroyed. Snuffed out. You are the remaining Cole witch.” Talia leaned forward on her desk. “You are in danger.”

                “Is..is that why my family was killed?” Claudia looked extremely confused. “Because we’re witches? They were slaughtered because we’re witches?”

                “No, dear,” Alan shook his head. “That was a rabid werewolf. We believe he was on some sort of drugs.”

                “You believe?” She looked around the room. “You haven’t found him yet?”

                “Well-”

                Talia was about to explain the on-going search when the office door burst open. A young man, most likely one of Peter and Talia’s cousins and a member of the pact, burst through the door. He leaned against the knob for support as he bent over panting.

                “Kyle.” She stood up, placing her hands firmly on the table.

                “I….We-we have….” Kyle panted, pointing at Claudia. “We have…the wolf-”

                Claudia shot off the couch and headed to the door. Peter followed close after, grabbing Kyle by the scruff of his collar and dragging him. A few miles into the woods, the pack was gathered in a semi-circle around a single tree. When Claudia, Peter, and, by force, young Kyle arrived, they gave them a wide berth. Peter shoved Kyle off to the side. Claudia marches through the crowd and stops on the edge.

                A head of them, heavily chained to a tree with a muzzle firmly latched in place. He was over six feet, bare chested and heavily muscled. There was deep gashes covering his torso that went in a couple inches. Claudia wondered why they weren’t healing, then she spotted a silvery substance inside the wounds.

                Peter sniffed the air. He grimaced. “Not only does he smell like shit. But shit, blood, and silver wolfsbane.”

                “Silver wolfsbane?” Claudia asked softly. She felt the urge to touch his wounds in wonder, but she felt a stronger urge to dig them deeper.

                “I made it myself, miss,” A voice behind them spoke up. Claudia turned to see a meek little man with mousy brown curls and thick wooden frames for his glasses steep forward, raising his hand as if he were in school. He dug a vial of a silvery lavender liquid from his pocket. “I-It was simple enough, really. Silver powder compound mixed with wolfsbane nectar. It has to boil-”

                “That’s enough, Danny.” Peter said. He took the vial from the man and shook it. The colors swirled around beautifully. Peter placed it in her hand, and curled her fingers around it. “Point is, it’s painfully effective. Dip an arrow or a knife or even a bullet in this, aim, and revenge is yours.”

                “Do you know who he is?” Claudia rolled the vial around in her palm.

                “Do we have to?” A member of the pack called out. “He’s an Omega. He’s no one.”

                “I’d at least like a name before I-” She stopped suddenly. She looked down at the vial in her hand again. She looked up at Peter. “If I have to kill him, I’d at least like to know his name.”

                Peter turns to one of the men standing guard beside the tree. “Did he have anything on him?”

                The guards around the tree shared baffled looks. “What’s the point in searching him? He’s a junkie Omega.” Peter’s eyes flared, and his teeth and nails elongated. Although Peter was younger than many in the pack, but he was the beta of their pack leader and a strong enough fighter.

                “Check. Him.” Peter growled.

                The guardsman hesitantly stepped towards the Omega. The Omega strained against his chain, trusting his head forward to snap his muzzled mouth as him. The guardsman paused, glancing momentarily at Peter before continuing. He reached his hand tentatively into the pocket of the torn and frayed jeans. There, he found broken needles and a rubber tie.

                “Like the man said, he’s a junkie Omega.” The guardsman said, walking back to his post.

                Peter turned to Claudia. “Omega is his name. He is a drug addict, a rabid wolf, and a murderer.” He reached out behind him and a knife with a bone handle was put in his hand. He in turn held it out to Claudia. “Give your sisters peace.”

                Claudia took the blade in her right and held the silvery wolfsbane in her left. She could feel the eyes of the pack on her. She felt Peter’s warmth beside her. They were all waiting for her to kill this man.

                “How?” Claudia said softly so that only Peter could hear. She knew that being surrounded by werewolves meant nothing you said was private, but the thought that only Peter could hear her brought some comfort.

                “Any way you like,” He said just as softly. “Slow or quick. Clean or messy. Nothing will happen unless you want it too.”

                “Any way I like…” She repeated. She dropped the knife and turned to Peter. “I’ll need an axe.”

                An axe came minutes later. She dripped the silvery wolfsbane along the sharp edge. Limb by limb, she swung until he was just a torso chained to a tree, his arms and legs swimming in the lake of blood beneath him and the brown bark of the tree stained crimson from his blood. After every swing of her axe, she wiped the blood from her face and her blade and recoated the warming metal with the painful poison. 

                After her last swing, her arms grew weak and the axe dropped from her hands. She stumbled slightly, but Peter caught her arm.  The crowd around her stood silent. Some of the men had left, holding back puke with their hands clammed over their mouths. With the axe at her feet, her clothes, face, and hands stained bloody by her actions, she began to shake.  Her eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped. After all his suffering, the Omega still fought his chains and bit at his muzzle.

                Her eyes darted around and her hands continued to shake. Cutting the limbs off a man chained helplessly to a tree was more than she had planned for. It was excessive and it was cruel and it was taking its toll on Claudia both physically and emotionally.  Quick or slow. Quick or slow. Quick or slow. She repeated that mantra over in her head, weighing her options.

                Before she could act, Peter left her side. He stalked towards the tree, brought out his claws, and slashed the Omega’s throat. The claws raked across the Omega’s throat slow and smooth, slicing the critical veins, the windpipe, and the vocal cords. The Omega would bleed out and drown in his own blood, unable to breathe, within the next few moments.

                He turned from the dying man that gurgled on his blood, swept up Claudia, and brought her up to his house. His pack parted as they passed. He spotted his sister standing beside Alan off to the side of the crowd. They had kept their distance and remained silent during the ordeal, and for that Peter had mixed feelings about. Had they interfered, the manner in which Claudia did this would have been different and could have ended sooner. Yet if they interfered, Claudia would have never forgiven them. She felt that she needed to do this alone, that it was her responsibility. Peter knew better than anyone else that for how much Claudia talked big, she would always need some form of help to finish.

                Claudia was no killer and Peter would give his last breath to see that it remained that way.

                As Peter passed Talia and Alan, he forced his eyes to shift. They were no longer the golden yellow that would comfort Claudia, but an ice blue that signaled him a killer. They will never be golden again and would remain blue unless he was to become an Alpha.

                After Claudia cleaned herself up, Peter put her to rest in his room. She was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. He left the door cracked when he left. Talia was waiting for him in the hallway.

                “Why did you do it?” She asked softly.

                “Because it had to be done.” Peter tried to move past her, but she placed her hand on his chest.

                “Why did you do it, Peter?”

                When Peter looked back up at her, his eyes shifted once again to the icy blue and simply stated, “Because I love her.”

                “Because you love her…” Talia tested the words on her lips. He could see a dark look form behind her eyes. “This won’t end well for you. For either of you. By killing for her, you’ve not only lost your innocence but also a piece of your soul. Taking a life to spare her from doing it, you’ve bound yourself to her. You may not realize that now, but one day you will.” She patted his chest. “And it will hurt the both of you.”

                 Claudia moved in with Melissa’s family and finished out the rest of her senior year without incident. When she isn’t doing school work, she learns her craft from Alan with assistance from Talia and her pack. She is mainly self-taught and learns at an astounding pace.

                However, the consequences of her family’s massacre and her actions in dealing with it have left her feeling numb and emotionless. She broke up with Bobby towards the end of the school year. She told him it was out of grief, but truly she no longer felt anything for him besides friendship. She knew Bobby would always love her and he even said so himself. She thought it was foolish, but accepted it out of kindness.

                Peter once again became her lover, but they agreed it would be nothing more than a friends-with-benefits/lovers-out-of-convenience arrangement. Claudia wouldn’t allow herself to commit to anything beyond that and Peter was fine with it…for a time. He knew she would move on and heal and return to him.

                Out of the blue and in the dead of night, Claudia packs up her sister’s car and sets out for college across country the country in Georgia. She left a note for Melissa explaining where she was going and why, promising to call as soon as she arrived. Everyone would hate her and she could care less. She needed to get as far away as she could to put the past behind her before she could move on with her life.

                The only specific instruction she left in her note was that Melissa never tell Peter where she went.

**_ To Be Continued _ **


	5. Chapter 4 - Claudia's Story pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second installment of Claudia's story. There is a surprising twist towards the middle, so please don't hate me... too much. It is rather lengthy like the first part, so please bear with me.  
> WARNING WARNING WARNING!!!  
> Sexual material (multiple) is included

**Claudia’s Story pt.2**

**[1990]**

               Claudia has been in Georgia two years already. The time seemed to be flying right past her – between waitressing and school and all her homework, she barely had time to breathe. The one, solid plan she’s stuck to since moving here was calling Melissa every night.

               They’d talk about Melissa’s nursing school; Claudia’s double major in business and cooking; Melissa’s family; Doctor Deaton…..sometimes Claudia found herself asking after Peter. Usually, Melissa would mention Peter vaguely, but never by name. Peter was always ‘him’.

                At least once a week, Melissa would tell Claudia to drop one of her majors. Double majoring in two separate fields while working seemed to be taking its toll on her. Claudia was almost always tired even though she practically had her coffee administered by I.V; she had no social life outside of school, work, and nightly calls to Melissa. Through all the bad in the past three years, she did have one glimmer of hope to look forward to every morning.

               John Stilinski.

                There was an Army base a couple miles down from the diner Claudia worked at. It was normal enough to have men and women in uniform walking through the door at all hours, the little bell above the door chiming. Sergeant John Stilinski had been transferred here a couple months ago, but he took his time making friends before venturing off base.

                It was his first visit in town since transferring. A couple of his buddies were with him, their arms slung over John’s shoulders. They’ve spent their off day showing the sergeant around town. They were regular enough customers of the diner for Claudia to remember them and act friendly. She didn’t notice John walk in at first; she smiled to the regular soldiers over her shoulder and told them their usual spot was open.

                When she went over to take their order, she froze. She saw John and John saw her; wordlessly, their connection was made.

                John had Paul Newman blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile that knocked Claudia down. She could tell he had a quiet personality with a hidden sense of humor. He was a man that was still and grounded, that had honor and courage. John Stilinski was a good, honest man with no complications or hidden agendas.

                John knew he was done for. She’s odd and bookish and not the type of girl the other guys like, but to John she’s THE ONE - the girl with a hidden steak of fire and steel. He never once believed in “love at first sight”, but starring at this woman now, he knew he was mistaken.

                John’s buddies openly watched the small starring contest going on between John and Claudia. Smiles broke out across their faces and they begin laughing. Claudia shook herself out of it, blushing.

                “What can I get you guys?” She said, keeping her eyes on her pad and pen.

                “The usual, Claudia,” One of the men said. He glanced over at John for his order, but John was still too busy starring at Claudia. The man looked back at Claudia with a smile. “He’ll have the same.”

               For the rest of the afternoon, they tease him mercilessly and just loud enough for Claudia to hear. Claudia wouldn’t see him again until next weekend.

                Claudia and a couple of her college friends were headed out to a campus frat party. The night air was warm. They were a street or two down from the frat house when Ashley Hooper became impatient.

                “Could you guys walk a little faster?” She pleaded. She was already leading the by six feet.

                “Not if you want Lindsey to break a leg,” Samantha Jones quipped, holding on to Lindsey Fray’s hand.

                For some reason, Lindsey thought it would be an excellent idea to wear five inch heels to walk seven blocks in, especially since she wasn’t accustomed to heels in the first place. She had borrowed them from Samantha.

                “And I don’t want to sweat off my make-up before it could be put to good use,” Sarah Parker smiled. As they walking, she was applying mascara.

                “Just hurry, okay?” Ashley sighed.

               “It’s not like we’re heading to prom, Ash. It’s just a party.” Claudia smiled. If they were going somewhere nicer, she would have worn something else besides hip-hugging jeans and a shirt with a plunging neckline. “There is no _late_ to a frat party.”

              “All the good guys will be taken.” Ashley stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. Some me thought it was sexy, but the girls found in childish.

             “Trust me, there are no good guys where we’re going.” Samantha said.

             “Shut up and get laid, will you?” It was then the sound of hip-hop music filled the air. Ashley twirled around to her friends with a big smile on her face. “I love this song! Let’s dance!”

            She grabbed Claudia’s hand and jogged closer to the source. Sarah called after them, “We’ll catch up, I guess.”

           Ashley started dancing her way down the sidewalk. She stopped when she noticed Claudia not doing the same. She stuck out her bottom lip again. “Come on, Claudia. Don’t make me dance alone. You know I hate dancing alone.”

          Claudia held out her hand with a small smile on her lips. Ashley took it and together, they shook their hips into the crowded driveway of the fraternity house. AS they song ended, Claudia began laughing and slowed down her hips.

        Out of the crowd of faces, Claudia saw a pair of chocolate-brown eyes watching her. He ran his fingers through his black hair before resting them against his scruffy face. He smiled lazily at her.

         “No. Uh uh,” Ashley said, stepping in front of Claudia’s view. “Please tell me you aren’t starring at who I think you’re starring at.” Every direction Claudia tired moving to get a better look, Ashley blocked her. Finally, she dragged Claudia to the back edge of the crowd by the sidewalk. “Do you even know who that is?”

           “Who what is?” Lindsey asked as the girls came up. Sarah had already split from the group to join up with her boyfriend.

           “Obviously not, or we’d be dating.”

           Ashley looked over to Samantha. “Will you talk some sense into her? She’s eye fucking Jack Furman.”

         “Honey, Jack Furman sleeps with a girl before moving on to all her friends. It’s like a conquest game he and his friends play. The one to sleep with the most girls gets free beer or something.” Samantha said.

           Lindsey lowered her voice to add, “Dwight Heckler interns at the campus clinic with me. He was on shift last semester when Katie Cole was brought in. She’d been roofied and raped. The last person she was seen with was Jack, but because she didn’t remember anything, the university swept in under the rug.”

        “What makes it worse is that Jack makes all kinds of jokes about it. To anyone with a brain, he’s practically admitting to it.” Ashley’s mouth curled with disgust.

        “Okay, I’ll stay away.” Claudia put her hands up in surrender. “How come I’ve never heard about him before?”             

        “You don’t have a social life, sweetie.” Samantha patted Claudia’s cheek.

          The girls pushed their way through the crowd and into the frat house. The rest of the night went off without a hitch 0 there was loud music, the alcohol flowed freely, and (as always) the girls stuck in packs. The only time one of them broke away was to get a drink. It was Claudia’s turn.

         The make-shift bar was outside on the lawn. It looked like they stole some little girl’s lemonade stand and attached an overhead mirror. While she leaned against the bar, she glanced behind the inebriated “bartender” and into the mirror.

         She saw Jack Furman push through the crowd towards her friends. He reached and arm out for Ashley but she moved it away, her foot tapping against the ground the way she always did when she was irritated. He turned his gaze to Claudia’s back and Ashley matched his gaze before giving him an inappropriate gesture. A wide smile crossed over his face.

        Jack walked, no, make that _sauntered_ , over to where Claudia leaned against the make-shift bar. His khaki cargo shorts and tight-fitting baseball t-shirt showed off his muscle definition. His arm muscles rippled against the fabric, accenting his shoulders. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her like she was some tiny, helpless creature and he was the big, bad predator.

        Claudia felt violated. Dirty. Like she needed to take a shower to scrub that look off her body.

        It wasn’t until he got close enough that she could read the writing on his shirt – No Glove, Better Love. He was a pig, with a capitol P.

         “So, you’re the mysterious roommate.” The words came out like butter, his voice deep and sexy. Claudia didn’t answer him. He smiled. “Thought I’d meet you. Beautiful girl like you should be talked to.”

        “Nice shirt.” Claudia gave him a disgusted once-over.

        “What can I say? It’s better that way.” Claudia didn’t answer. He smiled and began to bait her. “What? You a virgin or something? Don’t like sex?”

       “I like sex just fine, thank you. Just not with man-whoring pigs.”

      He faked a wince. “Ouch, girl. Not a very nice thing to be saying to a guy about to buy you a drink.”

         “I can buy my own drinks.” Claudia turned back to the “bartender” and took her Corona. She was about to walk away when Jack stepped into her path. He smiled.

         “I’m Jack Furman.”

         “Is that supposed to mean something?”

         “Thought it’d be nice for you to know my name, seeing as how you’ll be moaning it later, kitten.”

          Claudia’s lips suddenly felt like they were covered in lead as they turned downward in disgust. “Do I look like a cheap whore to you?”

          “Aren’t all women?”

           “You’re an asshole.” Claudia pushed past him to walk away, but he grabbed her. His grip was strong enough to leave bruises later on. She splashed her beer in his face and jerked her arm away. As he tried wiping beer out of his eyes, she hissed, “Seeing as I’m a whore, it’ll cost you fifty cents next time.”

          “You stupid bitch!” Jack yelled.

          Claudia was walking away, but he grabbed her again, turned her around, and slapped her. There was enough force to send her to the ground. The left side of her face stung, her eyes were blurry, and she could taste blood in her mouth. Jack picked her up by the collar of her shirt, his arm pulled back to strike again, but before her could, something grey leapt out of nowhere and tackled him. Jack’s grip on Claudia broke and she fell on the ground again. She sat there with her hand on her face and watched as a man in a grey military uniform held Jack on the ground and punched him twice in the face. When Jack had had enough, he threw his hands in the air. The uniformed man put his finger in Jack’s face and quietly said something to him. Jack agreed and the uniformed man got off of him.

         Claudia didn’t recognize the uniformed man until he stood above her, he hand held out to her. She took his hand and he pulled her up.

         “Sergeant Stilinski,” Claudia breathed. He was in his cami uniform, his name boldly patched on his right breast. “How…Why…?”

         “Mind if I walk you home?” He asked. He wasn’t looking at her, but at Jack who was still on the ground. Before she could answer, he guided her to the sidewalk with his hand hovering over her lower back. Hazardously parked on the sidewalk was a black sedan. Sergeant Stilinski opened the passenger door for her and gently closed it behind her. He walked around the hood to the other side and got in.

        “Which way?” He asked, pulling out onto the street.

       “Back down Sheppard’s Parkway and then left on Hamilton.” Claudia told him without hesitation. She’s seen him one before, didn’t know his first name, and yet he pulled an abusive frat boy off of her tonight. She felt she could trust him, but also wondered why he was there. The car was quiet a moment as Claudia got her thought together. “Sergeant-”

       “John.”

       “Excuse me?”

       “My name.” He glanced over at her. “John.”

          “Okay…John. Thank you for tonight. I don’t think any of the guys there would have done what you did.”

          “I’m glad I was there before it escalated.” His tone was grim. Claudia noticed his grip on the steering wheel was tight.

         “Yeah. About that…why were you there? The base is miles from here.”

         “Corporal Mills needed a ride to his girlfriend’s place. There was a movie I wanted to see in town so I volunteered. I was on my way back to base when I got lost. I’ve been driving down this street and that street trying to get back on the road I needed when I heard the music. I was going to stop by and ask for some directions, but then I saw you. That guy grabbed you and I acted.” He glanced over at her again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tackle him sooner.”

        Claudia gave him a reassuring smile. “Your timing was perfect. Believe me.”

        He smiled back at her. When he turned on to Hamilton, Claudia pointed out the apartment complex the five of the girls stay in. they all live on the same floor, but Claudia splits the apartment with Ashley, while Lindsey and Samantha share another, and Sarah splits one with her cousin. John pulls into an open spot and cuts the engine. He’s out his door and opening Claudia’s before she could get her seatbelt off.

        “Thanks again, John, for showing up when you did. Saved me a lot of make-up in the morning.” Claudia smiled lightly.

         John didn’t like the situation one bit, but he knew she wanted to keep it light-hearted so she could move on. He smiled back. “Anytime, Claudia.”

         Claudia walked away. Behind her, she could hear John opening his door. Without thinking, she turned and asked, “Do you want to some inside for a cup of coffee?” She smiled warmly, and pointed over her shoulder at the complex. “I make good coffee.”

         “Alight,” he chuckled. As he locked his car, he said, “I’d like to get a better look at your face.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, his face turned red, “I’m sorry. I meant-”

         “I know what you meant,” Claudia smiled wider. She unlocked the complex’s door and held it open for him. “Has anyone ever told you that you look cute when you blush?”

         “Cute, huh?” John held back a smirk.

         It was Claudia’s turn to blush. “You know what I mean.”

         The ride up the elevator to the third floor was nice. They chat about nothing and she’d tease him. He’d tease her right back. It felt natural. It wasn’t fake or scary. Claudia fished her keys out of her pocket. She looked back at John as she opened the door. She gestures for him to enter, but he held back.

                “After you,” he smiled.

                She stepped inside her apartment and put her keys in the small bowl by the door. Ashley made it in one of her ceramics classes. It was a metallic blue and filed with spare pocket change and reminders. Claudia heads into the open kitchen and starts the coffee. John unbuttons his cami blouse and gently lays it over the arm of the couch. The tan shirt he wore was tight, showcasing impressive muscles, and tucked into his trousers. His last name was spray painted in black on the back of his shirt.

                “Do you want anything to eat while I’m in here? Ashley just went grocery shopping.”

                “No, thank you. Where’s your first aid kit?”

                “Bathroom. Under the sink.” She leaned out of the kitchen to point down the hallway on her left. “First door.”

                When john came back with the first aid kit and a small bowl of water, Claudia had two cups of coffee siting on the coffee table in the kitchen. She didn’t know if he took cream and sugar or not, so she brought the small carton of half-and-half and a sugar bowl with her.

                “Cream and sugar?” She asked. She splashed cream into her cup and added two sugars.

                “No, thank you. Black is fine.” He sat on the couch and opened the kit in his lap. He took out what he needed and set the box on the coffee table. He crooked his finer at her to come closer and she did, her cup of coffee warming her hands. He cupped her chin with one hand while the other dabbed a cotton pad into the bowl of water and gently cleaned the corner of her mouth and the small cut on her cheek. Her cheek was tender and throbbing from the pain. She winced whenever he swabbed, and she faintly heard him mumble ‘sorry’ every time. After it was cleaned, he took an alcohol wipe and further cleaned to cut. She shut her eyes. When he finished, his thumb gently smoothed over her chin before releasing her.

                “You can open your eyes now.” When she did, she saw a soft look in his eyes. “There’ll be a bruise, but it won’t scar.”

                “I’ll wear it proudly.” She took a sip of her coffee.

                They talked easily for a while and a couple hours slip by. The conversation wasn’t forced and there was hardly any time between responses. They talked about everything and nothing, whatever came to mind they said it. When she got John to laugh at one of her more awful jokes, she liked that it was deep and warm. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Sitting on her couch, drinking coffee, and talking to him made her happy. It was simple. It was comfortable.

               It was one of her happiest memories.

                John reached over and put his empty coffee mug on the coffee table. His arm brushed against hers. A tangible spark pasted between them – call it static, call it attraction, call it whatever you like. The pull between them got stronger. When he straightened, they were sitting very close. John’s breath crosses Claudia’s cheek when he exhales. It’s warm and smells like the coffee. Her heart races as he moves closer. His eyes study her face for any inclination that she didn’t want this to happen.

                John lifts his hand and strokes his fingers along the side of her face, gently caressing Claudia’s good cheek. Her eyes close in response, and she leans into his hand. She could feel the tension rising between them. His fingers brush away hair from her face, and he dips his head and covers her lips with his.

                Claudia sucks in a jagged breath, unable to hide how much he affects her in this moment. John’s bottom lip brushes against hers. He kisses her softly, hesitantly at first. Each kiss is slow and tentative, waiting to know if Claudia wanted more. She nipped his bottom lip with her teeth in response. She leaned into him and pressed her mouth roughly against his. His tongue brushed the seam on her lips. He swipes against them lightly and she opens her mouth. John began to kiss her more deeply. Claudia moans and leans into him.

                Claudia’s body burns. Every bit of her is hyper-sensitive to his touch. As his hands touch her skin, she feels lighter.

                She presses herself closer to John, and trails her fingers up his back, feeling the curves of his body. John’s hands respond by drifting lower to Claudia’s waist and slipping them under the hem of her shirt. When he touches her, her pulse races. She pulls him down on top of her, and they lie back on the couch. His lips didn’t stop.

                Claudia’s fingers work at untucking his shift from his pants. When she pushes up the fabric to his chest, John sat back on his heels, straddling Claudia, to pull it off. He dropped it on the floor. Claudia ran her fingers over the contours of his chest. She stopped briefly at the cool metal of his dog tags hanging from his neck. John watched her as she slid her hand across his chest and trail her fingers down to his stomach. When she hits the tan military belt, she slowly glances up at him.

                John lowers his body back down to her, dipping his head to press slow kisses to her neck. She closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation. His hands move over the front of her shirt, slowly testing how far she was willing to let him go. When his palms brushed over her breasts, she moaned softly into his ear. Her hips press against his and she could feel how hard he was.

                John’s kisses trailed down her neck, leaving a hot wake behind. Whenever he presses a kiss against her skin, her back arches off the couch. She can’t stay still. Her hands find his back and sweep over his muscles. They’re tense. Hard. John shifts his weight, moving one leg to the side. Watching me, he touches the hem of my shirt and slowly pushes it up to my stomach. Breathing slow and deep, she watches him. His fingers gently push the shirt up again until it was over her bra. She was wearing a black, sheer bra Ashley had gotten her for Christmas. John could see everything.

                Claudia lifted her back from the couch to help John pull her shirt over her head. Once it was on the floor, he lowered his head to her breast. His lips moved over the fabric at first, teasing her, making her nipples hard and ache. She was softly moaning beneath him, pressing herself against him. This all felt right to her. She brushed her fingers through what little hair he had in his crew cut. Her back arches and thrusts her harder against his mouth. John’s hands moved beneath her to unbuckle the hooks. With a quick glance at Claudia’s face, he pulled the bra away from her soft skin and tossed it on the floor.

                John kissed her bare shoulder. His mouth drifts lower, burning a path of hot kisses to her breasts. She felt his hand, hot and heavy, pass over her curves. He holds her a moment, feeling her heart beat in her breasts. It was rapid. His thumb brushes her nipple making Claudia’s hips move on their own. She breathed his name hard. His lips brushed against her skin. He kisses and nips gently at her skin. Her hips rock against his.

                Together, they undid her jeans and pulled them off and onto the floor. He lowered a hand to her leg and traced his fingers slowly up her inner thigh. Her legs opened to him. John moved slowly, watching her. His hand brushed over the outside of her panties, touching her lightly. Unknowingly, she scratched her nails on his forearm. The action made John press her harder into the couch.

                His hand between her legs, his mouth on her breast, she writhed against him. A thousand different sensations shot through her body. Everything was perfect until the front door swung open. Claudia yelped and curled her near naked self against the half-naked solder on top of her. Ashley, Samantha, and Lindsey were standing in the middle of the open hall, starring at the sight before them.

                Embarrassment crept into John’s cheeks. He cleared his throat nervously. “Hi.”

                “Hi,” Samantha said back. She was stunned. She hadn’t expected to find this when they came in to see if Claudia was here. They had only just heard about Jack’s attack from a drunk sorority girl. After searching the frat house, the girls raced back to Ashley and Claudia’s apartment to check if she was here. Obviously she was….and she wasn’t alone.

                “Hey, Claudia.” Ashley smirked, leaning against the door frame.

                “Hi, guys,” Claudia sighed. She stayed curled against John’s chest so they wouldn’t see her embarrassment. “Do you mind if-”

                “Oh not at all,” Ashley sighed, drinking in John’s body.

                Lindsey rolled her eyes and began pulling Ashley into her bedroom. Samantha followed, calling over her shoulder, “We’ll come out when the door shuts.”

                “Thank you,” She calls back.

               When she hears the bedroom door close, she untucks herself from John. Her face is flushed with embarrassment and she doesn’t know what to say. Neither does John. He lifts himself off of her and they begin to dress. Claudia’s hands were shaking slightly, so she was having difficulties hooking her bra. She felt John’s warm fingers reach out and hook them for her. His hand lingers on her back a moment longer. When she turns to look at him, she didn’t mean to laugh but she did. John joined in a second later.

                It was nice to know they could laugh about the shared awkwardness.

                Claudia walked John to the front door when they were both dressed. He lingered in the door frame, his uniform cover in his hands. “This was a nice date.”

               “This was a date, was it?” Claudia leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She held back a smile.

               “I pulled an abusive frat kid off you and we had coffee.” John left out the most interesting part of the night, but the look in his eyes spoke for it. “All things considered, it was a date.”

Claudia smiled. “Then a date it was.”

               Coyly, John said, “Wouldn’t mind another one, but let’s avoid the frat house next time.”

               “If there is a next time, and I’m not saying there will be,” she took a step closer and looked heatedly into his eyes, “you’ll have to work a little bit harder for an ending like tonight. I don’t normally do that on the first date.”

               “Are you working tomorrow?”

                “The lunch rush.”

                “Good,” He leaned his head down to graze his lips across hers. When he pulled back, he winked. “See you then.”

               Soon after, John came into the diner nearly every day to flirt with her and ask her out on the second date. She finely caved in after a month of getting to know John better and they’ve been going strong ever since.

[Claudia was 20; and John was 22.]

**[1992]**

               After a couple years of dating, John proposed to Claudia the day she graduated college, but they decided to wait until John’s Army contract was up before getting married.

               The ceremony was small and intimate with only a handful of guests. John’s family took up most of the chapel in fact. The only people that were there for Claudia was were Maid of Honor, Melissa, a couple of college friends, and Alan Deaton. She called Talia directly to invite her, but if Talia came, then Peter most certainly would. Talia agreed it was for the best if her pack stayed away from the ceremony. Alan brought Talia’s wedding gift with him.

               With John’s Army contract out of the way, they decided to move back to Claudia’s home town of Beacon Hills. John made a few phone calls to the local police station and found out they were hiring. He’d have to go to the police academy, of course, but the job was his once he graduated in a few months’ time.

               The newly married Stilinskis bought a small apartment in town that wasn’t the best, but it was only a starter. John completed the police academy on schedule and quickly became Beacon Hill’s top deputy. Claudia opened her own Café a couple blocks away from the police station – A Cup of Joe. Bobby comes in every morning for coffee and he and Claudia always talk like old friends, but he leaves whenever John’s patrol car would park in the lot. John doesn’t ever know about Bobby’s connection with his wife and Bobby would like it kept that way. He found the deputy very intimidating.

                The couple lived normal lives. They were happy, they fought over whose turn it was to go shopping and do the dishes and do the laundry, and they had sex at the drop of a hat -

                When un-packing boxes in their new apartment….

               John was down to a tank top and jeans, and Claudia’s mind kept wandering to what he looked like without them. She wasn’t the only one thinking about what people looked like naked. She’d catch glimpses of John’s eyes roving over her when he thought she wasn’t looking as he toted bags up the stairs or unpacked pots and pans.

                Claudia had enough practical presence of mind left to switch on a lamp when she heard the first clap of thunder in the distance. Then it was back to flirting wordlessly with her husband – making sure he had a good view when she bent down to unwrap a glass from newspaper or stretched up to put that glass in the cabinet.

                She turned with a smile on her lips, ready to get back to flirting with John, only to find him standing right behind her. His face was intent with a look she could not mistake. He was ready for something entirely different the flirting.

                He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. When the height difference became an issue, John just picked her up and put her on the edge of the kitchen counter. A clap of thunder sounded outside and she parted her knees to let him get as close to her as he could. She wrapped her legs around him. He pulled the elastic band out of her hair and ran his fingers through the tangles.

                His fingers found the bottom back edge of her tank top and snuck up under it. He examined her bra tactically and figured out how to open it in record time. His hands pushed the bra aside and ran his thumbs across her nipples. She wriggled even further to the edge of the counter, her skirt sliding up her thighs, so the big bulge in the front of John’s jeans were pressed against the notch of her underwear.

                John’s warm lips played on hers while his hand slid to the inside of her thighs. He stroked the thong she wore, causing her to gasp softly. Claudia reached in between them for his zipper. Claudia leaned back on the counter, her head resting on the cabinet doors, as he shoved the string of her thong aside with one hand and forced his pants to his ankles with the other.

                Her legs wrapped around him. His hands were planted firmly on the counter top as he firmly pushed inside her. She rocked her hips, loving the sensation of him deep inside her. When she moved faster, so did he. He rocked into her swiftly, until they were both breathless with it.

               The untamed joy of how they were braking in the new apartment made Claudia want to shout out loud. She had a string of lovers after Peter and before John that were extremely practical with sex – instant on birth control and condoms, lights were out, doors were locked, the windows were shaded, and making loud noises was frowned upon.

                John held on to her tightly as he came, his sperm scalding, his mouth hard on hers. When her orgasm came, she was unsure how much noise she was making and not really caring.

                When she wound down, John back out of her, still hard, pulled his pants up, and carried her to the second hand sofa in the living room a few feet away. He collapsed onto it, Claudia on top of him, both of them panting. Claudia became aware of the rain beating against the windows and the doors, and the thunder booming away.

                ~~~

                And on lunch breaks….

                It was around eleven in the afternoon when Claudia decided to crawl out of bed. She decided to stay home from the Café today to give her assistant manager some training and to get some chores done. All she’s managed to do was sleep in.

                She was finishing up the dishes from her late breakfast when she heard the distinctive engine of John’s police bronco pull up into the apartment complex’s lot. She looked out the window and saw John racing into the building.

                Since they were on the second floor of the complex, it didn’t take John long to fly up a flight of stairs and open the apartment door. Claudia didn’t bother greeting him because he suddenly grabbed her and crushed her mouth under him. His hands slid her oversized night shirt up her thighs and pinned her against the wall.

                “On my lunch break,” he said hoarsely against her mouth. Her only response was an agreeable moan as he lifted her on his hips after the distinct sound of his belt getting undone flowed by the rasp of the zipper of his uniform pants.

                He felt as clumsy as a schoolboy undoing his clothing. He cupped her ass and groaned as his fingers slid into the distinct shape of her thong panties. He quickly made a small obstacle out of them before guiding her onto his shaft. The moan that left her lips nearly undone him. She shoved her fingers into his hair to pull his mouth closer to hers.

                Her shouts were drowned out by his as he came in her while burying his face in her neck and shoving himself as far into her as he could possibly get. His fingers dug into her ass, sure to leave small bruises.

               “Some lunch break,” she managed to say.

               “Sorry for attacking you,” he breathed into her neck, not sorry at all. She moved and flinched. His brow furrowed, thinking he’s hurt her. “What is it?”

               “Something’s poking my thigh,” She smiled.

              He eased away from her and chuckled. “My gun.” Gripping her waist, he lifted her off of him like she weighed nothing and set her down gently. However, he didn’t release her. He bent his head down and took her mouth with his.

~~

               Whenever she wasn’t with John or at the Café, she was continuing her studies with Alan. She discusses the possibilities and benefits of her giving up her powers. Binding them so that she or any of her future children would not possess any magic. Alan didn’t know how to respond at first, the request seemingly unheard of in the magic community, but he promised her that he would look into it for her.

               Claudia also kept her friendship with the Hale family a secret from John. Talia understood that John knows nothing of Claudia’s family “gift”; that he doesn’t know she is a witch. She avoids Peter whenever she can, and Talia was gracious enough helping her with that.

               Talia’s main motivation was not wanting to see her brother hurt again. After Claudia skipped town in the middle of the night, Peter was a self-destructive wreck. He believed her to be taken and in danger. He tried convincing Talia to send the pack after her, but Talia refused. She explained to Peter that Claudia has gone away to college, somewhere far. No one knew where so there was no point in finding her. She advised him to forget about her and move on.

              Peter became reckless after that - screwing any were-animal he could find; dipping his toes into dark magic; and nearly getting himself killed by a group of Hunters whenever he felt bored. When Peter found out from a drunken pack member that Claudia planned on binding her powers for the sake of a normal life he became furious.

             He demanded to be present as Alan preformed the binding spell. Although he felt her to be a traitor for throwing everything away for her “human”, he couldn’t let her go through this alone.

             “Are you sure?”

               “You keep asking me that,” Claudia muttered around the thumb nail she was chewing on.

               “Because I want you to be sure about this,” Peter took her by the wrist and pulled her nail away from her mouth. “So are you sure?”

              “Yes, Peter!” She snapped.

               “And that’s my cue,” Alan stepped in, rolling a tray over to where Claudia sat on an examine table. Unthinking, she grabbed Peter’s hand more tightly as Deaton preforms the spell. It looked so simple to Claudia. Alan mixed together herbs and liquids, said some words in a language Claudia didn’t recognize, combined them into a glass, and handed it to her to drink. “Bottoms up.”

              “That’s it…just drink?”

              Alan nodded. “Just drink. The potion will do the rest.”  

             “Okay,” She sighed. “Here we go.”

             She knocked back the disgusting liquid, fighting heavily to spit it all back up. It had a bitter taste and a burning after taste. She handed the glass back to Alan and waited for something to happen, but nothing did. She looked up at Alan skeptically.

                “I don’t feel any different, Alan. Are you sure it worked?”

                “One way to find out.” He rolled the glass around in his hand. When he threw it up in the air, Claudia automatically shot her hands out to freeze but nothing happened. It shattered to the floor moments later. She sat on the examine table in pure shock.

                “I’d say it work.” Alan smiled.

                “And….And it’ll work for my kids. They won’t have powers, no magic?”

                “I’m not entirely sure about that, but,” She took her hand in his and patted, “let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

After that night, Claudia officially cuts ties with Peter.

               [Claudia was 22 and John was 24.]

**[1994]**

The weather report called for a massive rain storm and highly possible flooding in certain areas of the town. An alert was sent out stating that it was advised everyone returned to their homes as soon as they could. It wasn’t safe to be out and about in the storm.

                Claudia closed up the shop extremely early and sent everyone home when the report came out. She stayed a little later to make sure everything was secure and the café wouldn’t flood. When she finally did leave, the storm had picked up dramatically. Heavy rains were blown sideways by the intense wind, trees appeared to be swaying right out of the ground.

                She dashed into the back parking lot to her car and got in. In the seconds it took to get her there, she was already soaked. She fished her keys out of her pocket and put them into the ignition. The engine puttered and staled when she turned the key. She tried a few more times, hitting the steering wheel in hopes it would affect the engine, but it was no use. The engine was soaked and dead.

                She had no choice. She had to walk the six blocks home. It would be dangerous, yes, but it would be just as dangerous as waiting in the car or in the café. The frigid rains stung with electricity. Her sandals pattered on the broken asphalt. She ducked into the nearest alley to take shelter under an awning. She had just enough time to wipe the water out of her eyes before a strong hand took her by the arm and began dragging her down the alley.

                The rain was so thick, Claudia couldn’t see who it was. She didn’t need to see who it was, she just needed to know where they were when she sprayed him with pepper spray. Since the frat party a couple years ago, John’s insisted she carry pepper spray with her everywhere. Right now she was glad. She fished around in her soaking wet purse and pulled out the small canister of pepper spray. She managed to pull away from the man long enough to spray his face.

                He let go almost immediately to cover his face. Claudia took off up the alley. She was almost at the sidewalk when the man grabbed her again. She was about to spray him again, when he held up his hand.

                “God dammit, will you stop that?!” The man yelled. Claudia squinted hard through the rain and saw that it was Peter. His hair was matted to his head, his gym clothes were drenched and sticking to his body. His eyes were red and puffy. “It’s me!”

                “Why the hell did you grab me?” She pulled her arm away from him and shoved the pepper back into her purse.

                Peter was about to say something else when a monstrous clap pf thunder and a blinding flash of lightening cracked simultaneously. The heavy winds continued to blow the icy rains every which way. Peter grabbed Claudia by the hand and forcibly dragged her down the alley. He stopped midway and kicked rotten boards free of the doorway of an abandoned building and ducked inside. Although it was dank, dark, and smells like rotten homeless men, at least it was dry except for a few leaks.

                “What the hell were you doing out there?” Peter shouted over the noise outside.

                “I could ask you the same damn thing!” Claudia forcibly took of her jacket and threw it on the ground. She began airing out her close.

                “I was out for a run and got caught in the storm.” He rolled up his shirt and rolled some of the water out. “And you?”

                “Car engine flooded.”

                “Why not call that husband of yours? He has to be good for something.”

                “He’s good at everything,” Claudia snapped back. After a second she began smiling. “Except cooking. He’s god awful. All he can make is mac n’ cheese or grilled cheese or…just anything with cheese.”

               “You hate mac n’ cheese.” Peter said. He knew because he’s made it for her.

                “John likes it, so I like it.” Claudia sat down on a wooden crate and began pulling off her boots and wet socks. Peter sat down beside her and did the same.

                “So what John doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”

                “Exactly,” Claudia sighed.

                Thunder boomed outside, then a bolt of lightning struck the roof. Claudia screamed as bricks came down around her. Peter pulled Claudia to his chest as he stood up. He held on to her close as the bricks continued to fall. When it subsided, Claudia pulled her head off of Peter’s chest but still clung on. She looked up at him and he looked down at her and the spark lit itself. It was just as it used to be – the look, the spark, the heat, the passion.

                “Peter.” Her voice was quiet, a soft note amid the chaos.

                Peter walked them forward, pressing Claudia against the brick wall. He wanted her with an intensity he’d never felt before. She was his and he was hers. They were supposed to be married. Claudia didn’t know this, but when werewolves choose to mate for life, they have no love for anyone except their chosen mate. A dim part of Peter’s mind kicked him. _You love her; don’t hurt her._

               Peter focused on her eyes. They were beautiful, wide and brown. There was warmth and a flicker of heat beneath them. He touched her face. She flinched, but found herself accepting his touch. Claudia was shaking, from him or the cold, he didn’t know, but her eyes remained soft.

                “What John doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Peter repeated Claudia’s words softly. He kissed her before she could respond.

               The bricks scrapped his arms as he shielded her from the wall. Claudia lost herself. She knew what she was doing was wrong. She loved John. She married John and in doing so took vows….but she also loved Peter. She didn’t understand this herself, and she stuffed it to the back of her mind when she found herself lacing her arms around his neck.

                Peter moved Claudia’s legs around his waist, her black skirt riding up her thighs. It took less than a second to move her panties aside and find her opening with his cock. She sucked in a breath, eyes widening, as he slid firmly into her. Claudia was hot and wet and so easy to enter.

                She arched against him, her nipples rubbing hi through her soaking clothes. Peter shielded her back from the wall with his arms, the bricks abrading his skin bloody. His heart rocketed, his blood ran hot.

                Claudia’s sheath clenched him; their bodies fit together perfectly. Peter’s mind went blank. All he felt was Claudia, all he smelled was her body and her sweet perfume, her breath, her hair. He trusted into her harder and harder, his blood pumping.

               Outside, lightening crackled, blinding flashes followed quickly by booming thunder. The hail that began to fall fell like bullets on the roof. Balls of ice bounced through the broken windows.

                “Peter. _Yes_ ,” Claudia breathed pleadingly into his ear. Claudia shuddered in climax, her feet around his ass. The balls of her feet grated her skin.

                Peter squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead on the wall. He shoved himself into her as far as she could take him. His shoulders bunched, his breath burned in his lungs. Still holding her with one arm between her and the wall, Peter pounded his fist into the brick. Another lightning strike light the world, and Peter came inside her.

                Sweat poured from both of them, their bodies on fire. Claudia was screaming, and Peter heard his own voice ring through the warehouse. He pushed them off the wall and fell backwards onto the cold, stone floor. Peter lay flat on his back with Claudia’s soft body on top of his. The movement slid his cock out of her, and he inwardly groaned.

                “That was…” Claudia breathlessly smiled into Pete’s sweaty chest. “That was….”

                Peter wanted to answer her, tell her that he loved her. He could only gasp for breath. The pain of her inevitably leaving him again and going back home to her husband robbed him of his voice.

                Claudia glanced down at Peter’s cock. “I thought you-”

                “I did.”

                Gritting his teeth, he turned her over to put her beneath him and entered her once more. He pumped inside her for a few more minutes, then dragged in a breath and came inside her. Neither of them seemed to notice. Peter collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, his body roasting. He lingered a kiss, kissing her face and hair, then rolled off onto his back.

                They lay still for a long time, Peter’s breathing hoarse, and Claudia curled up beside him with her back against him. Gradually the hail subsided, but the storm continued to rage on. Claudia wasn’t moving, and Peter wondered if she’d dropped off to sleep. He propped up on one arm to look over her.

                “Are you alright?”

                “I don’t know,” she said softly.

               Peter leaned his neck out to see over her shoulder. She was stroking her wedding rings. The way the light caught them, it was impossible not to stare. They weren’t extravagant or flashy, but elegant in its simple and meaningful. They were both John’s mother’s – the engagement ring was a slender silver ring with a single diamond fixed; the wedding band itself was silver as well and just as slender.

                “I have to go,” Claudia said, pushing away from Peter’s warm body. “This is…this is wrong.”

                “You didn’t seem to mind.” Peter casually said, rolling back over on his back.

                “I’m not solely blaming you.” Claudia picked up whatever clothes Peter had torn off her and quickly dressed. They smelled stale and were still wet.

                “But you are blaming me?”

                “Peter, I cheated on my husband with you. What the hell do you think?” She sat down on one of the dilapidated wooden crates and began strapping on her sandals. “This was wrong; it was a mistake.”

                Peter pushed himself on his elbow again. “What’s a mistake is your marriage to that human husband of yours. You giving up your magic for him was a mistake. This, Claudia, what we just did, that wasn’t a mistake. We are the ones who should be together, we are the ones who should be married.”

                “Well, we’re not, Peter!” Claudia yelled. “This was a mistake! I love John. I married John. I am with John. You, Peter….you are a mistake.” By now, her eyes were watering. She knew her words hurt him, and they hurt her too. But if she wanted to put this behind her, she needed to put Peter behind her as well.

                “You’re saying that to hurt me,” Peter said softly, tracing his finger on the cold, stone floor.

                “I wish that were true, but the truth is I don’t want to see you again. Don’t come see me, don’t talk to me. We are over. This is the last mistake I make with you.”

                Before Peter could react and chase after her, Claudia was out of the building and running as fast as she could in the storm to her apartment. Tears and sweat mixed with the rain on her clothes and face.

                John wasn’t home when Claudia arrived. There was a message on the answering machine from John explaining he was working storm relief tonight and probably won’t be home late. He hoped she was safe and warm at home and told her he loved her. Those last words on the machine froze Claudia. She stood in a puddle of water in the center of her kitchen, the smell of the warehouse and of Peter all over her, John’s loving words ringing in her ears.

                Filled with complete and udder shame, Claudia fervently tore her clothing off. Everything went – from sandals to underwear, she threw them in the garbage. She didn’t want to save them and have them be a constant reminder of her broken vows. She wanted them gone. She wanted this memory to be gone.

                She numbly padded to the bathroom. The water was scalding but she didn’t notice. As she sat on the floor of the shower, her knees pulled up to her chest, she had hoped the water to steam out some of her misery and guilt. She shampooed her hair repeatedly and scrubbed every inch of her skin raw. After she climbed out, she threw up what little she had in her stomach into the toilet. A couple of minutes later, she rolled her hair into a clip, grabbed her comb, and threw on the nearest oversize shirt. She hadn’t realized it was John’s until she heard him say, “I’ve been looking for that shirt. Where’d you find it?”

               He stepped out of the kitchen with a cold beer in his hands. His hair was wet, but his clothes were casual and dry. He’d come home and changed out of his soaking police uniform while Claudia was in the shower.

                “Hi,” She said softly.

                “Hey,” He smiles at her. He walks over and places a kiss on her forehead. She flinches. He looks down at her with concern and sees that her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. “Were you crying, Claud?”

                Claudia turned away from John and headed to the couch. She curled up in the corner of the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She stared blankly into space as she mentally prepared herself. She was going to tell John what had happened. She knew he’d be angry, he’d yell and be mean, but she’d deserve it. She’d expect him to hit her, but that wasn’t the kind of man John was.

               Either way, she was preparing herself for John leaving her.

                “Claudia?” John asked. He put his beer down on the coffee table and knelt down in front of her. He pried one of her hands off her leg and took it in his hand. “What’s wrong?”

                “I-I…” She took a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes began to water. She avoided looking at John. “I messed up John….I really messed up.”

                “What’re you talking about?” With his other hand, he reached out and brushed a strand of wet hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He held her cheek in his hand.

                She leaned into the warmth of his hand. She placed a hand over his and held it there. How could she do this to him? He was absolutely everything to her and she betrayed his basic trust. And for what; a roll around the rust with Peter and a failed marriage? She promised herself she would tell him. On top of all she was going to put him through, he didn’t need to be lied to.

                She repeated that pep-talk in her head over again, but the longer she starred in his eyes and saw nothing but warmth and love starring back at her, her words fell short of coming out. Several times, her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

                “Claudia, you’re starting to scare me.” John stroked her cheek with his thumb. His brow furrowed and his eyes became sharp. “What happened?”

                In the end, Claudia became a coward and a liar.

                “I-I…killed the car.” When John became confused, she began to babble. “I was trying to leave to café, but the car wouldn’t start. I checked it, I swear, just like you taught me! But by the time I left the café, the car engine flooded or the electric work was too wet to start or-or something. Anyway, I had to leave the car there and run home.” She shifted in her seat and took both of John’s hands in hers. She forced a few tears out to make herself see more panicked.

                “You should have waited inside the café and called me to come pick you up.”

                “I know, I know, but you were probably busy with the storm. And I didn’t want to bother you. Your work is more important-”

                “Hey, hey, hey. Enough of that.” John was doing his best to hide his smile. He loved Claudia, even her mild freak outs. “It’s okay, baby. It’s-”

                “It’s not okay, John!” She shouted dramatically, yanking her hands from John’s. “Do you know how much it’ll cost to get it towed and repaired? A lot of money, that’s how much.” She put her face in her hand. “I’m so sorry, John. I should have left earlier. If I didn’t think the storm would push over-”

               “Claudia. Claudia!” John began to chuckle. He cupped her face with both hands and kissed her. It was quick and soft, to make her stop talking. When he pulled back, he was smiling. “It’s okay. It’s just a car.”

                “What about-”

                “A friend of mine owns the mechanic’s. I’ll talk to him. Now,” he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Is that the only mistake you’ve made or is there more?”

                “No.” She put a small shaky smile on her face and kissed the inside of his palm. “That’s it.”

                “Good.” With a smile, he pulled her legs away from her chest. He gripped her ankles and pulled her towards him, wrapping them around his waist. She pushed herself closer, putting her arms around him and bent a little to kiss him. It went on and on and soon they settled into their rhythm. The nightshirt slid up to the tops of her thighs. Her hands rubbed his arms desperately.  

                John stood up with Claudia still wrapped around him. He carried her into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. John pulled away to quickly strip. Claudia did the same, tossing her nightshirt onto the floor.

                The night was perfect. Round after round, aftershock after aftershock, they kept going. It surprised Claudia how fast John could get hard not long after he’d spilled his load in her. Multiple times. They didn’t tire easily, but after a few hours, they began to feel its toll. Claudia in particular slept dreamlessly and for that, she was grateful.

               It was a week shy of a month later when Claudia’s actions caught up with her. She was huddled in the back store room of A Cup of Joe with café’s cordless telephone in her hand. So far, all she heard was the dial tone, until -

                “This is Melissa McCall. You paged me?”

                “Mell, it’s me.”

                “Hey, Claudia. What do you need?”

                “I need you to schedule some tests for me. I don’t want John to know, so could you do it quietly?”

                “That depends on the tests….what should I be testing for?”

                With shaky fingers, Claudia pulled out two pregnancy test sticks from her black apron. There was a pink plus sign on both. “I need to know if I’m pregnant.”

               Melissa was confused at the lack of excitement in her voice. Melissa, herself, was already two months pregnant and couldn’t be happier. She scheduled to tests anyway knowing that as soon as she got Claudia alone she would get the truth.

                Two days later, Claudia went to the hospital for the tests. She had told John that she was helping Melissa out with baby stuff while her husband, Rafe, was away on business. Lately, the lies Claudia has been telling John come out more naturally than she liked.

                It took an hour for the results to come back. As they were processing, Claudia told Melissa everything about that night – the car, the warehouse with Peter, the apartment with John, and the pregnancy tests. Melissa sat in shock in the corner of the room while Claudia hid her face in horror.

                “Since you had unprotected sex with both men, both of which came inside you, either one could be this baby’s father.” Melissa said harshly after a couple minutes. She refused to look at Claudia.

                “Is there any way to tell who the father is? If it’s Peter’s, then I want an abortion. I-I can’t bring his baby into the world.”

                “Unfortunately for you and luckily for the baby, DNA testing a fetus is impossible. You’ll have to wait until the child is born.”

                Without another word, Melissa stormed out. Claudia sat on the examine bed, alone and in a cold room. She had not only lost her best friend but also might not be carrying her husband’s child. This was all Claudia’s fault. All of it. She was just like her father – if only her mother was here to kill her; that would be great right about now.

               She didn’t know what Melissa would do with the information she had. Would she tell John on purpose or would it slip out one day when she’s drunk or angry? Would she value what little remained of their friendship and stay by Claudia’s side? What will Claudia do if the tests come back positive? There was a chance the baby was Peter’s, so naturally, she’d consider abortion. But there was also a chance the baby was John’s and she would never do that to him. He greatly apposed abortions in marriage unless there was an excellent reason – spousal rape, abusive family, limited finances, too many children already, and so on. None of these were the case in their marriage.

                But what is Claudia told him about Peter; about how it was only the one time and she would never see him again? He’d know there would be a chance the baby wasn’t his then and could help Claudia decide what to do. The greater risk Claudia was not willing to take was the chance John would leave her after finding out. She knew he was a better man than to leave his pregnant wife, even if the baby wasn’t his. No, he’d wait until the baby was born, demand a DNA test, and if the baby wasn’t his, Claudia feared he’d ask for a divorce.

                Claudia was still debated on what to do when Melissa came back in with the test results in her hand. The combination of Melissa’s knowledge and the unpleasant look on her face did not mean anything good.

                She laid the results next to Claudia on the bed and said, in an icy voice, “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

                It took another week for Claudia to decide what to do. She couldn’t ask Melissa, because Melissa was ignoring her. Claudia deserved it and told her as much. When she had finally made her decision, she cornered Melissa at the hospital.

                “I love John. I love him with all my heart and soul. I know I messed up royally, but my mistake shouldn’t hurt John. He is too good a man for that. I am going to tell him that we’re pregnant and he’s going to be a father.” She paused her rambling to soften her look. “No matter what you think of me, Melissa, you will always be my best friend, my sister, the godmother to this child and any children I have after. I won’t give up on us even if you do.”

                Without giving Melissa the chance to respond, she turned on her heel and walked out. She wanted to tell John before he left for the late shift. But first, she had to stop by the store.

                When the cab dropped her off at her building, she saw John crouched down in the small plaza beside his motorcycle, wrench in hand, completing a few tweaks on his bike. She walked right past him and around his bike.

                “Hey, sweetie. You’re home early.”

                Claudia ignored the comment and took her purchase out of the shopping bag. She laid the small white onesie with a smiling brown bear in the center on the bike’s seat. John wiped his hands, stood, and gingerly took the onesie up with one clean finger.

                “Please tell me this isn’t for Melissa…” He said quietly, small notes of hope underlying.

                A wide smile stretched over Claudia’s lips. “Not for Melissa.”

                John dropped the onesie back onto the bike, caught his wife in a hug, and swung her off her feet. He crushed her against him, lips finding her hair her face, her mouth. John gave her a long, heartfelt kiss. Claudia got into it, sliding her arms around him to put her hands in his back pockets. When he eased back, laughing and cheer all the same, he excitedly said, “We’re having a baby!”

               “You’re going to be a daddy.” Claudia smiled, rubbing his cheek tenderly.

               [Claudia was 24, and John was 26]          

**[1995]**

               The Stilinski’s bought their first (and current) home not long after receiving the news. John was so ecstatic, he spread the news all over town. Residents, new comers, and visitors felt the happiness of the deputy after talking to him. It was infectious with John, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

               For John’s sake, Melissa and Claudia agreed that the baby was John’s and to NEVER mention Peter again. That worked for them. And by the time Stiles was born, it was a couple months after Melissa’s son Scott. By then, the mothers’ friendship was repaired. It would take more time and trust to get back to where they were, but at least it was a start.

              Claudia has never seen John cry, but she swears she saw tears in his eyes when Melissa brought out their son after over seventeen hours of labor. It was all worth it to see that small face wrapped in blue, so soft and warm. Claudia dozed off before she can tell John what NOT to name him. By the time she was fully awake, the birth certificated had been signed and validated.

             “You know the first thing he’ll do on his eighteenth birthday is skip school and chance his name,” Claudia joked, breast feeding her son.

             “I just wrote down what you mumbled.” John smiled over the newspaper he was reading.

             “Some father you are.”

             John winked at her and they laughed. This was one of the happiest days of her life, everything leading up to this moment seemed so miniscule in comparison.

            The next morning when she wakes up, so could hazily see someone walking around her room. At first she thought it was John, but he would be at work at this hour. She opened her eyes enough to covertly see that it was Peter Hale.

           He was walking around her hospital room, gently rocking baby Stiles in his arms. Under his breath, he sang a lullaby that seemed to keep the baby quiet. Claudia is initially concerned at what Peter planned on doing, but it soon faded away after seeing the tender care Peter is taking with her son.

          She pretends to be asleep for the next couple of minutes. The warmth and love she felt for Peter years ago began to stir as she listened to him care for her child, sooth him as he began to whimper. The warmth she felt quickly turned to disgust and guilt as a dark part of her mind reminded her that Stiles might be Peter’s after all. She began to worry if that was the reason why Peter was here, to take her child away from her because he was his. Katherine had once explained to Claudia that there was a way werewolves somehow knew when a child was theirs.

          Luckily, Claudia didn’t have long to worry. Melissa came in with discharge forms of Claudia and Stiles. She was shocked and angered at the nerve Peter had in being here. As quietly and as fiercely as she could, Melissa told him to leave before she called the police and especially John Stilinski. She would love to know what he had to say to the stranger who waltzed in here and held his son. It surely wouldn’t be pleasant.

          Peter growled something at her that Claudia couldn’t make out before gently returning Stiles to his crib. He leaned down to swipe his lips across Stiles’ forehead and stroke his belly with the back of his hand. After he leaves the room, Melissa got on the phone with security to make sure Peter would be seen out of the building.

         She rushed over to Stiles as soon as she hung up the phone. As far as she could tell, the baby was alright. Claudia heard Melissa whisper into the crib,

        “For your sake and your mom’s, I hope that man isn’t your father”.

                [Claudia was 25; John was 27]

**[2004]**

             Life for the Stilinski family was beyond normal. John went to work where he had been promoted to Deputy Chief, the man to take over as Chief once Farrell stepped down; Claudia worked and managed the café; and Stiles went to school.

          Since infants, Stiles has had one friend to mess around with – Scott McCall. When they weren’t with their families, they were together. The only reason Stiles even wanted to go to school was because of Scott.

          On weekends, the Stilinski family would spend the day together. They’d go to the park and have a picnic, John and Stiles would throw the baseball around, the three of them would play soccer. They’d explore the town, stopping at the ice cream parlors, toy shops, and having lunch at the Café. They were the typical American family with barbeques and family parties. That is, until Claudia got sick.

         After months of testing, Claudia was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia (FTD), a shrinkage of the frontal lobes of the brain that leads to dementia and ultimately death. The life expectancy of FTD is usually six to eight years, but Claudia had a more radical form that shortened expectancy to, at the most, nine months. John kept denying it and denying it, but after their savings was nearly depleted from several second options, all leading to the same diagnosis, he was forced to accept the truth.

         Claudia was able to live and work from home for a short period of time, but four months after the diagnosis, she was hospital bound. Stiles would visit her before and after school every day, sometimes getting Melissa to bring him in when John couldn’t. And if he was good at school and didn’t trouble John at home, he was allowed to spend the weekend with her.

         He would hold her hand the entire time he was with her. He was afraid that if he left go, then she would just float away. Almost every night, he’d have nightmares about it. Every day, Stiles told his mom that he was going to fix everything. He’s read all the books, even though they had big words, so he’d find the sure and fix her. Good as new. Claudia didn’t have the heart to tell him that he couldn’t, so she let him believe it. She only had a couple months left, and she would rather spend them with a hopeful son than a son who has given up.

        Two months after Claudia was admitted to the hospital, Peter began to visit her. He had just gotten back from traveling to Brazil for pack matters when he’d heard the news from Talia. He dropped everything and came straight to the hospital. Claudia explained her situation and the numbered months she had left, and just like her husband, Peter refused to believe it. He made promise after promise that he would find some way, magical or not, that would fix her.

        Peter made a habit of visiting Claudia when John was at work and Stiles was in school. Whenever a member of the hospital staff, especially Melissa, would come in the room, he would hide in the bathroom. It was childish, but it brought some humor into her life. More often than not, Claudia would be sleeping during his visits. The FTD was getting progressively worse and her time was soon closing in. She was always exhausted and nearly always sleeping. Peter stayed with her, holding her hand, while she slept. She took comfort in knowing someone was with her.

        When Claudia was awake long enough to talk, they’d talk until she fell asleep again. It was during one of these talks Peter wondered what their lives would be like if she wouldn’t have left.

        “I’d be a witch married to a werewolf, raising little werewolf cubs.” Claudia spoke softly. Lately, her voice never reached higher than that. “I wouldn’t have John, or the café, or even my Stiles.”

        “You would still have Stiles, just not with that ridiculous name.” Peter cracked a small smile. He’d been rubbing small circles on the back of her hand.

        “He’s not your son, Peter.” Claudia breathed. A single, wet tears rolled down her cheek. “He will always be John’s son.”

        Peter let the subject go. After a while he speaks up again. “We would have grown old together, you know? White hair, sipping tea on a porch swing, watching our grandkids play in the yard. That could have been us.”

          “It could have been.” Claudia smiled.

          Before she had met John, she had often wondered what life with Peter would be like. Sometimes it was happy, sometimes it was sad. But often times, she found herself wondering if Peter would be happy. He was an ambitious man, and with Peter, that meant danger as well.

         It was nearing seven o’clock and John would be here soon with Stiles. Peter kissed Claudia on the forehead goodbye and left. He would be there tomorrow. Melissa came in not long after Peter left to check up on Claudia. However hard this was for John, it was just as hard for Melissa to see her like this. They all knew it wouldn’t be long now until Claudia was cold and six feet under, but there was always that silent denial.

       “Melissa?”

      “Yeah, sweetie?” She asks just as silently. She sits on the edge of the bed and takes her hand.

             “Is it…is it cruel of me to love two men? To be with one and love him, yet also love another just as fully?”

             Melissa knew who the two men where – John and Peter. She hadn’t thought about the later in over nine years. She was surprised he hasn’t shown up in the hospital given Claudia’s condition. She was grateful, in fact, for Peter keeping away. It was one less thing Claudia needed – guilt. Whenever Peter or his name popped up, Claudia felt overwhelming guilt.

            “I suppose it’s possible,” She brushed a fine hair out of Claudia’s face. “The heart will always want what the heart wants.”

            Claudia chuckled lightly. “Thanks for the cliché.”

            “That’s what I’m here for.”

             The days past and Claudia could feel her time getting closer. She could hardly eat anymore, staying awake was more exhausting than it was worth, and her mind was drifting away from her. BY now, she was praying that death would take her.

            That night, her prayer would be answered.

                 On Peter’s last visit, Claudia tells him that this will be the last time he’ll see her. That by tomorrow morning, she’d be dead. She didn’t need the doctors to tell her that, she felt it in her gut. Peter kept telling her they had over a month a left and that she was looking better already. He was hysterical, kept saying she was wrong, that they had more time. She took his hands and pulled her down to her chest. He laid his head above her heart and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, committing the beat to memory.

                 It was nearly time Stiles was here. Melissa volunteered to bring him tonight since John had to work a little later than usual. They would be here any minute.

                When Peter lifted his head, Claudia took it in both of her hands. Her eyes were watering and her voice was shaky.

                “I want you to promise me that you’ll look after Stiles after I’m gone. John won’t be able to protect him against what we know to be out there.” She pleaded with him with her eyes, taking deep breaths, her bottom lip quivering. “I need you to promise me, Peter. Promise me you’ll look after him.”

                Peter leaned forward and kissed her passionately for the last time. He whispered against her lips, “I promise.”

                He left seconds before Stiles ran into the room, dropping his school bag on the floor and hopping on the bed to rehash the day’s events to his mom. He curled into a ball beside Claudia, taking her arm and wrapping it around himself. Claudia was grateful he didn’t notice her wet cheeks and red eyes.

               Peter numbly walked through the Hale house door an hour later. His nephew, Derek, threw his basketball at Peter for a game of hoops, but Peter swiftly caught it with his claws extended and popped the ball. He left it at his feet as he walked on. Derek told his mother.

              Talia found Peter sitting in the darkest corner of the basement. He told her about Claudia and she sympathized with him. His only mistake was his hysteric rambling – he let slip that he would sneak into her hospital room later tonight to bite her. If the transformation takes place, she won’t die. Knowing her, she’d want to leave her family to keep them safe. That’s when Peter would come in and they’d run off. They’d start a new life in a new place and live happy and free. She wouldn’t die and they’d be together.

              In his weak-minded state, Peter didn’t notice Talia get up to retrieve the silver chains. They were on him before he could react. Meer seconds later, Peter was fully chained up to the steel wall he was sitting against.

              “It’s for your own good, baby brother.” Talia whispered before heading back upstairs. Peter’s screams echoed behind her. She posted two guards to make sure Peter stayed chained and in the basement until Talia said otherwise.

             Peter yelled the entire night.

             And it was that night Claudia died. Her son was snuggled beside her, her arms wrapped around him tightly; her best friend and sister was sitting in the arm chair beside her; and her husband…..her husband was working. She goes quietly and peacefully in her sleep, holding onto her son.

             When John arrives at the hospital later that evening, his hands smeared with drying blood, he knows something has happened. The nurse’s station he has to walk by when entering the hospital was quiet, the nurses avoided his eyes. The dread grew stronger when he got to Claudia’s floor. The nurse’s station there, too, avoided his look.

            The noise of a woman wailing could be heard from down the hall….Claudia’s hall. He numbly sets off. He knows what has happened, fears it, but can bring himself to believe it. Even when he sees Melissa curled on the floor outside of Claudia’s room, her husband, Rafe, trying to comfort her, but she kept pushing him away. Rafe looked up when he saw John coming and simply shook his head.

          He was warning him Claudia was dead, but still, John didn’t believe.

          He walked around Melissa and Rafe to stand in the doorway of his wife’s room. She was sleeping peacefully on the bed like normal; however, her machines were dark and a handful of nurses were in the room trying to pry Stiles away from his mother.

         He was kicking and screaming, biting and clawing, at anyone who touched him. He held onto his mother’s hand with a vice grip. If he let go, she float away. She’d be dead and Stiles would never see her again. Just like his nightmares. John wished more than anything that this was a nightmare. That they would both wake up and she’d just be sleeping in her bed. But this was real, they were awake, and this was life.

        Claudia was dead at thirty-four, leaving behind a loving husband and a nine year old son.

         John strode past all the nurses and took his son in his arms. John pulled Stiles’ back to his chest, and wrapped his arms around him. He never said a word or told him to let go. He just held his son while the boy screamed for his mother.

         It was an hour later before Stiles let go of his mother’s hand.

* * *

 

               Stiles wakes up gasping for air, covered in cold sweat. He was lying on the couch in Scott’s living room with Melissa, Scott, and Isaac staring down at him. In his hands was his mother’s book of shadows. Somehow, through it, he was able to see glimpses of her life or at least, the parts it wanted him to see.

Melissa lifted the cool compress she had been holding to Stiles’ forehead. “Stiles…stiles can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah,” he answered shakily. He was still breathing heavy and his mind was rattled.

Scott and Isaac helped Stiles sit up on the couch. Isaac knelt in front of it, and Scott sat on it beside Stiles. Melissa left the room to run more water over the compress.

“How’d I get here?”

“I threw my bike in your jeep and came here. Isaac helped get you in.”

Isaac waved his hand. “More importantly, what the hell happened? Scott said you heard screaming before you passed out after touching that book.”

Stiles ignore the question. “How long have I been out?”

“Six hours.” Melissa said as she came back into the room. She put the compress on Stiles’ head and handed him a cup of orange juice. “Now answer the question.”

“The screaming I heard…it was my mom’s.”

“Claudia’s?” Melissa’s voice dropped. Her face lost color. “How...how could you hear her screaming?”

Stiles tapped the book as he gulped down his juice. “I don’t know how, but the book wanted me to find it. I guess it thought the only way how was to scream.”

“What happened when you found it?” Isaac asked. He wanted desperately to touch the book, but he held himself back. He didn’t know if what happened to Stiles would happen to him.

“The book showed me something…” He twirled the glass in his hands. He looked up and starred accusingly at Doctor Alan Deaton as he stepped through the front door. “It showed me everything.”


	6. Chapter 5

**DEATON’S CAR**

               Awkward silence filled Doctor Alan Deaton’s car. Alan drove, Stiles fumed from the passenger seat, and Isaac sat in the back, twiddling his thumbs and starring out the window. A couple feet behind their car was Scott on his motorcycle.

                Alan was still upset about Isaac and Scott joining him and Stiles, but Stiles refused to come with Alan if the other two didn’t. The last time Stiles wanted answers from Alan, he ended up with a cheating mother and Peter Hale as a possible father.

                “So…” Isaac drawled, nodding his head as he looked out the window. “This is nice.”

                There was no reply from the front seats.

                Isaac leaned forward, placing his head between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. He looked up at Alan. “Where did you say we were going?”

                “He didn’t.” Stiles said.

                Alan glanced briefly at him. “To answer any questions Stiles might have about what he was shown. Since I don’t know what you saw-”

                “I saw my mother cheat on my dad – if he’s even my dad – with Peter Hale. On top of him being a psychotic, power-hungry werewolf that tried to kill me, he might be my father!” He turned his furious gaze on Alan. “You were my mom’s friend after all, right? Guess you forgot to mention you’ve known her since she was a teenager; spilled your mind? Wonder what else slipped your mind? Oh, yeah, I remember. My mother was a goddamn witch! Her whole family was made up of witches!”

                “It wasn’t my place to tell. I promised your mother-”

                “That you’d keep up with her lies?”

                “When I bound her powers, I was promising to keep all magic away from her and her children. You were to have no magic or any knowledge of magic.”

                “Gee, fine job you did.”

                “Stiles, calm down,” Isaac put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, but Stiles shook it off.

                “Seriously, Isaac? Calm down? I don’t even know what’s real anymore! I don’t know who my father is – is it the noble sheriff of Beacon Hills or the murderous werewolf who would not hesitate in killing us all!” He slumped back into his seat. “Guess dear ‘ole ma couldn’t decide so she auditioned them both.”

                “Your mother isn’t solely to blame.” Alan’s words came out harsher than he meant them to. “You know how Peter is. He can manipulate anyone to do just about anything.”

                “Manipulation or not, she was married. She wasn’t supposed to love them both, that’s not how it works.”

                Alan took a deep breath. He knew Stiles was hurting. He had been shown every gory detail of his mother’s life – her love, her sorrow, and her lies. This betrayal of a basic truth he’s known his whole life won’t easily be forgiven. Alan can only hope that whatever love he once had for his mother will play some part in how he reacts once they get to Peter’s apartment on the edge of town.

                The car returned to its tension filled silence. It broke minutes later with Savior by Destiney’s Child blaring from Isaac’s phone. He looked unbelievably embarrassed as he dug his cell out of his back pocket.

                “I thought I put it on silent…” He muttered under his breath. “I have got to change my ringtone.”

               He put the phone to his ear and listened. Stiles watched in the rearview mirror as Isaac’s expression shifted from embarrassment to confusion and then quickly to concern. Stiles could hear the dial tone when the call dropped. Isaac shot up in between the driver’s and passenger’s seat again.

                “Derek’s in hurt. I don’t know how bad, but it’s bad. We need to get to the loft.”

                “What did he say?” Stiles shifted in the seat to face Isaac.

                “I-I don’t know. I heard a loud crash like he dropped to the floor and yelling. He’s in pain. We have to help him.”

                “Doc, head to the loft.” Stiles ordered. Alan was about to say more, but Stiles cut him off. “Whatever you have waiting for me can wait a little longer. Derek can’t. And besides, the last time you sent me to get ‘answers’ I ended up with a lying mother.”  

               Alan conceded.

**DEREK’S LOFT**

                They found Derek lying face down and curled into his side on cool concrete floor. He was barefoot and bare chested, wearing only flannel sleep pants. His body was trembling, skin was pale and covered in cold sweat.

                “Derek!” Isaac shouted, running down the steps.

               Stiles and Scott followed close behind. Alan took his time, accessing the situation. Isaac and Stiles knelt down beside Derek and turned him over on to his back. His face contorted in pain, already shifting into werewolf features trying to kick start the healing process. His eyes were a vibrant blue, his fangs were extended, and the set of claws not clutching his neck were dug into his thigh.

                “Do you see any blood?” Isaac asked. He checked Derek over using is werewolf senses.

                “Only from his leg.” Derek’s claws were buried an inch deep into his thigh. Scott placed his hand over Derek’s and tried taking some of his pain away. He pulled his hand away quickly like he had been burned. “I-I can’t take his pain. Something’s blocking me.”

                Isaac noticed Derek’s neck. Whereas the rest of Derek’s skin was ghostly pale and clammy, heat seemed to be radiating from under Derek’s hand where he covered his neck. Isaac slowly pried Derek’s hand away. When he did, Isaac noticed the palm of Derek’s hand was red as if it had been hovering over a stove.

                “Doc…..” Stiles called out.

                Red veins, glowing like fire, pulsated heavily from the base of his neck and traveled up to the neck space below his ear. There, his pale skin shone red hot as if it were burning from the inside out. This burning was happening nowhere else except his neck.

                Stiles looked up at Alan. “What’s happening?”

                “I’m not quite sure, yet.” Alan spoke softly, kneeling down beside Stiles. This looked vaguely familiar to Alan, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

                “It looks like he’s being burned…” Stiles reached out his hand to touch it.

               Before Alan could stop him, Stiles had made contact. A current of soft blue and white light sprung from Derek’s wound and into Stiles. Once it hit, the room was blinded by the light as Stiles was shot backwards by the force. Everything faded to black for Stiles.

                Stiles came to minutes later lying on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on his head.

                “Déjà vu,” Stiles muttered.

               He took the bag of peas, which was starting to sweat, off his head and sat up with the help of Scott. Across the room at the wooden table, Derek sat in a chair and was being examined by Alan. Isaac stood by patiently.        

                “Did you see anything again?”

                “The light and then the floor before I passed out. What happened after that?”

                “After you shot across the room, the light cut off. You and Derek both were unconscious. He woke up a minute before you did.”

                “What about his neck?”

                “No more burns. It started to heal after the lightning, or whatever you want to call it.”

               Scott through him a glance over his shoulder. The others were walking over towards Scott and Stiles. Isaac helped Derek down on to the couch. Stiles looked over at Derek and saw that instead of burns, he had a thin, white burn scar in the distinct shape of a triquetra. He took the bag of peas out of Stiles’ hand and placed it on his neck. He gave a relieved sigh.

                “Please say that has nothing to do with me.” Stiles pointed to Derek’s neck.

                “I’m afraid so, Stiles.”

                “That’s just some symbol I saw in a dream. It’s not supposed to mean anything.”

                “In this case it means everything.” Alan drew up a chair and sat down in front of the couch. “Do you know what a triquetra means, Stiles?”

                “Something to do with witchcraft.”

                “Look at the design. Three interlocked loops, creating the intersection of three circles. There is no beginning and no end to the knot work. The connection is infinite. A circle is drawn around the triquetra to signify spiritual unity. This is a protection circle; something that cannot be broken.” Alan took the piece of paper Stiles crudely drew out the triquetra on out of his pocket. As he spoke, he pointed to the three loops, “The triquetra loops represent the three planes of existence - Physical, Mental and Spiritual. Notice how, although the three points are clearly separate, they are interlocked together by the ring. Through the ring, the planes are unified and protected.”

                “And what does all that mean for me?” Derek asked.

              “You said you have been feeling the burning in your neck for some time now, correct?” Derek nodded. “Around the same time Stiles began assuming his powers. That, and you being an animal, tells me that the triquetra appearing on you mean that you are Stiles’ familiar.”

                “Excuse me?” Derek too the bag of peas off his neck. “I’m Stiles’ what?”  

               “His familiar. All witches have a familiar in some form or another. They are the alter-ego, the double, of the witch. That doesn’t mean a physical double, but a spiritual one. Kindred spirits, if you will. A familiar can appear in numerous guises, often as an animal – a cat, dog, rat, toad, or whatever – but can also be a human or a humanoid figure. Like Derek, his is both human and wolf.”

                “What does a familiar do?”

               “The main purpose of a familiar is to guide his or her witch, but to also serve and protect them. A familiar is a witch’s constant companion, their most loyal ally, and above all, their protector.”

               “How did this happen in the first place? All I did was poke him.” Stiles looked at Alan in disbelief.

                “That’s all it took. When you touched the mark, you completed the connection. You marked Derek as your familiar.”

                “What would have happened if Stiles didn’t touch Derek?” Isaac asked from behind Alan’s left shoulder.

                “Derek would have been in excruciating pain until he died. If the connection is not made between familiar and witch, then the familiar dies and the witch is left vulnerable and clueless. It would only be a matter of time before the witch is killed.”

                “What if the connection is broken?” Derek asked. He was already contemplating a way to get out of this. He liked being a werewolf just fine. He didn’t need to be Stiles’ little helper/bodyguard on top of that. “Can the connection be broken?”

                “It would take an abundance of dark magic to do so without killing Stiles forthright. The connection will naturally break upon the death of either the familiar or the witch.”

                Isaac chuckled, a wide smile spread over his lips. “Derek and Stiles are soul mates.”

                Derek’s eyes flashed blue and growled menacingly deep in his throat. Isaac’s smile grew at Derek’s discomfort.

                “Growl all you want Derek, but when a familiar and its witch connect like you and Stiles have, their consciences merge. Their realities expand. An emotional and physic bond is formed. You can continue living an independent life, but it will remain closely linked to Stiles until death do you part.” Alan turned to Stiles. “And vice versa.”

               “What’s the downside?” Scott asked. He stood behind Alan’s right shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest.

                “What do you mean ‘what’s the downside’?” Derek barked. “I’m stuck with him until one of us kicks it.”

                “You know what I mean, Derek. Magic like this – merging two ‘souls’ together – there has to be an ultimate downside.”

                “Scott is right.” Alan nodded. “Besides death, which is inevitable anyway, there is another possible downside. I say possible because it all depends on how you look at it. The more time that passes, the stronger the connection becomes. Your emotions will become more…. _complex_ towards each other.”

                “What does that mean?” Stiles asked. “We’ll be able to feel what the other is feeling?”

                “Something like that, yeah.” Alan mulled over his thoughts a moment. “Do you know the myth of how were-creatures came to be?”

                “Animal bites man, man becomes animal.” Derek put simply enough.

                “The basic version, yes, but I was thinking more complex than that. Born were-creatures like you, not bitten like Scott and Isaac.” Alan paused for a moment. “In pagan mythology, the Great Mother was the first and most powerful witch. She could create life as easily as breathing. Through one action or another, she created a menagerie of supernatural creatures. Like all witches after her, she had a familiar. Hers was an animal. As human soon spread across the lands, their fears quickly followed. So, to move amongst them more easily, the Great Mother gave her familiar human form. Yet unlike their connection as with and animal familiar, their new connection as witch and human familiar grew stronger. They soon fell in love. Through their love came the were-creatures – half human like the Great Mother, inheriting great beauty and physical perfection, and also half animal like the familiar, inheriting heightened sense and strength. As half-human, half-animals, they were able to switch back and forth between man and beast. Generations past and new were-creatures are made either through bite or birth.”

               “So you’re saying that…” Stiles gestured between himself and Derek. “You know…”

                Derek shifted uncomfortably in his seat, moving the frozen vegetable bag away from his neck to cover his face.

                “I’m not saying that it will happen, it’s only a myth.” Alan saw relief wash over them. For good measure, and a bit of fun, he added. “But it has been known to happen.”

               Derek put his head in his hands. Stiles let his head fall back onto the back of the couch. Isaac was openly smiling while Scott was more polite in hiding it. Alan stood up.

                “Scott, call a pack meeting. Inform everyone on what has happened. Stiles will be your new emissary. Afterwards, try to start unloading the storage container. Keep the boxes someplace safe until Stiles can set up a space.” Alan gave Scott the container keys. “And spread the word – there’s a witch killer in town. He’s already killed once in town and we don’t need another. Be careful and stay on guard.” He turned to the boys on the couch. “In the meantime, you two will come with me.”

                “Where?” Derek asked. He shoved the frozen bag of peas at Isaac’s gut as he walked past him.

                “To make all this official.” Alan called back over his shoulder. He was beginning to call someone, most likely whoever they were going to see next, to tell them what has happened. “And put some clothes on before we leave.”

**PETER HALE’S APARTMENT**

                Peter Hale lived in one of the more posh apartments of the city. The outside was made of white marble, columns stood tall and regal at the entrance. How Peter could afford and upscale place like this was a mystery to Derek. Although knowing Peter’s skills, perhaps it wasn’t a mystery at all. The inside was a more modern lavish with an equal mixture of wooden and glass furniture.

               “What are we doing here?” Derek asked. He’s been grumpy since they left his loft, only speaking to ask questions. “How can _he_ help make whatever ‘this’ is official?”

                “I can do many things, Derek.” Peter said, lifting himself out of the brown leather arm chair. “Witchcraft is not one of them.”

                “Derek’s right.” Stiles turned around to speak to Alan. “Why are we at Peter’s if he can’t help?”

                “Because there is someone here who can.” Alan pointed down the hall to their left. There was a faint outline of a person walking towards them out of the shadows. Derek could feel Stiles’ anxiety and unconsciously prepared himself for an attack. A threat of a different kind stepped out of the shadowy hallway and into the living room.

                “Stiles?” The woman asked. She had chestnut brown hair that spun in soft waves down her back. Her eyes were the same warm color as her hair, yet were red rimmed and beginning to well with tears. Stiles recognized the sweater she was wearing as one of Peter’s, a pair of his drawstring sleep pants accompanied it.

                “Mom?”

                Although it had been eight years, Stiles would recognize his mom anywhere. He snuck one of his dad’s personal photo’s not long after she died and he went on a drinking binge – John in his Army uniform and Claudia in her waitressing gear; they were in a diner booth, Claudia sitting in his lap with her arms around his neck, both smiling happy for the camera. John would have lost his job as a deputy and would have never been promoted to Sheriff if it hadn’t been for Melissa. She got him sober and kept him that way until the pain of Claudia’s death didn’t hurt so bad. She had helped Stiles with his panic attacks, too.

               And after eight years of separation, learning to live without her, finding ways to cope with the hole she left in his heart and here she was…..standing in Peter’s apartment with his clothes on. The knife of her betrayal pushed further into his heart. Not only was she alive – impossible by all standards – but she flaunted a reminder of her infidelity.

               _He recognized me_ , was all Claudia could think. She drew a sharp breath, her hands flying to cover her mouth. _He recognized me_. Her wedding rings caught in the light, and reflected in her eyes. “Stiles…”

              “Mom?”

              She tried taking a step towards him, but he took a step back, reaching out for something to hold on to. Derek took hold of his arm. Through their bond, just as Alan had said, Derek could feel Stiles’ emotions. They were conflicted but overall panicked. His breathing began to quicken, as did his heart rate.

              “But you’re….you’re supposed to be…”

                “Dead? I know.” She tried taking a step towards him again, but he stepped back. Stepping closer to Derek.

                “No. No.” He began to feel lightheaded for his fast breathing. “This-this is a hallucination….this isn’t real…..” His voice dropped into a whisper, “ _this isn’t real._ ”

                Claudia tried to go to him, but Derek put himself in front of Stiles. His eyes flashed blue and a growled deep in his throat. Peter got the message. He placed his hand on Claudia’s shoulder and gently pulled her back. Derek turned to Stiles and guided him to a leather arm chair.

                “Stiles. Stiles look at me.” Derek knelt down in front of Stiles. Derek took Stiles’ head in his hands and held it steady, making sure he was focused on Derek. “Look at me. Focus on me.”

                “Can’t. Breathe.” Stiles’ gasped. He clutched his chest with one hand, and gripped the arm of the chair with the other.

                Behind Derek, Alan stood between Claudia and her son. She stood there, absolutely mortified, helpless to watch her son suffer. She knew that she caused this. She wanted to take him in her arms like she did when he was a child and hold him till everything was better. She chewed on her thumb nail and watched her son be comforted by his familiar – a werewolf of all things.

                “This-this isn’t real.” Stiles shook his head. “I’m still dreaming.”

                “You’re not dreaming. You’re awake.” Derek’s eyes searched Stiles’. “You’re here. You’re here with me.”

                “My mom is dead. Derek, she’s dead. She can’t be here.”

                “Mine is too, but yours came back, okay?” Derek stroked Stiles’ cheek with his thumb. “She came back for you. She’s here. And so are you. This is real.”

                “No. No. No.” Stiles kept muttering. He squeezed his eyes closed. He moved his hands to Derek’s forearms, his nails cutting deep.

                “Stiles. Think. How can you tell if it’s a dream or not? If you’re hallucinating? Stiles, open your eyes and tell me what you see.” Derek leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Open your eyes Stiles.”

                Hesitantly, Stiles opened his eyes. He kept them focused on Derek. He was close, maybe six inches away. Close enough for Stiles to smell the maple bacon Derek had for breakfast this morning.

                “Tell me. How do you know if you’re still dreaming?” Derek encouraged him.

                “F-Fingers.” Stiles’ breathing began to normalize. It was still quick, but more manageable. Stiles moved his hands to grip on to Derek. “In dreams you have extra fingers.”

                Derek took one hand off of Stiles’ face and held it in front of him. Four fingers, one thumb. Derek took the other hand off and showed him. Again, four fingers and one thumb.

                “It’s real….” Stiles breathed, letting go of Derek’s arms. He was calming down – his heart rate and breathing slowed to normal. He looked past Derek at his mother. “You’re real.”

                Claudia walked past Alan and stood behind Derek. “I am.”

               “How?”

               “I don’t know, baby.” She smiled, her lips trembling. “But I’m here.” She knelt down beside Derek. She gingerly placed her hand on Stiles’ knee, her wedding rings catching the light again. She looked up at him with tears welled in her eyes. “I’m here.”

                Stiles surprised himself by lunging forward towards his mom, wrapping his arms around her neck. It was automatic for Claudia to hug him back, just as tightly. She held his head against her chest, kissing his hair, his face. She needed to know this was real just as much as he did.

              “Can anyone in this town stay dead?” Stiles muttered. He just held onto his mother like a scared child. This made a better memory than the last time he held his mother. She was a corpse then, and a warm body now.

               “I take offense to that,” Peter spoke up. Derek stood beside him, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.

                “I missed you, mom.” Stiles whispered into her chest. He felt her heart beating under his ear, the sound of her blood rushing through her veins, the steady thumping of her heart. She was alive, breathing. She was real.

                “I missed you too, monkey.” Claudia whispered back into his hair. She pulled back. Stiles saw that she was crying. It wasn’t the sad goodbye-tears he’d last seen, but happy welcome-home-tears. She kissed his forehead.

                Alan turned to Derek, handing him his car keys. “Get the book.”

                Derek glanced over at Stiles, raising his eyebrow to ask if he was going to be okay. It was when Stiles nodded his head that Derek took the keys and began walking to the door. He was halfway there when he turned back around, He grabbed Peter’s arm and took him with him. The werewolves left the witches to talk.

                “Why’d you do it?”

                “Do what?” Claudia used her thumb to wipe away a tear on his cheek. “If it’s coming back, I don’t know-”

                “No. No. Binding your powers and mine. Why’d you do it?”

                “To have a normal family. I thought that there was no need to tell your father what I was, all the magic in Beacon Hills had long since left, and so there was no need to keep my powers. There was no need for you to grow up like that. I wanted my kids to live a normal, safe life away from all that death.”

                “Too late for that.”

                “I know,” Claudia sighed. “Peter’s told me everything that’s happened since….you know.”

                Stiles thought for a moment. “How can I have magic now if you bound any powers I might have had? Could it have something to do with you coming back?”

                “I only just woke up two days ago. Alan’s told me you’ve been experiencing the change for a couple months now.” Claudia looked up at Alan. “What do you think?”

                “I think it has something to do with the nogistine that possessed Stiles.” Alan sat down on the edge of Peter’s coffee table. “When the nogistine took control of your body, Stiles, it also took over your mind. That’s how it was able to recreate or at least imitate your mother’s illness and its symptoms. Now when you and the nogistine separated, he still had a connection to you.”

                “That’s why I felt like I was dying while he was getting stronger.”

                “Exactly. He was feeding off your energy, your untapped power. Now when the nogistine was killed, it severed the connection, yet it also fractured your mind. Keep in mind the binding spell I preformed on Claudia only bound the powers, not strip them away. He was able to break the binding, use your power, and when he died, he left that power source open.” He turned to Claudia. “I honestly don’t know how or why you were brought back, but it might have been triggered by the force of Stiles’ power.”

                “And what about my powers?” Claudia asked. “I died.”

                “Binding spells die with whom it was cast upon. Now that you’re alive, your powers, or some variation of it, should return as well.”

                “Let’s make this official and then we’ll find out.” Claudia stood up and helped Stiles to his feet. “Where’s the book?”

                Alan was about to answer, but the werewolves came back with the book. Derek handed Alan the book with his car keys on top.

               “Thank you Derek. Now if you could stand over there….” He pushed Derek towards Claudia and Stiles. “Good. Stiles, Derek, since neither of you re used to magic, I’m going to have to insist that you do not freak out. This won’t hurt, you won’t even feel a thing.”

               “What are you about to do?” Derek asked suspiciously.

                “He’s not only going to invoke my powers, but stabilize Stiles’ and cement your pact as familiar and witch. This is usually done on a witch’s eighteenth birthday, but I’m not one for conventional.” Claudia took both Stiles and Derek’s hand. “We need hold hands to complete the circle. I know, childish, but it works best this way.”

               Derek and Stiles reluctantly held hands, not looking at each other. Peter pulled out his phone and took a picture of the boys. He smiled when Derek snapped his teeth at him.

               “I’ll have to bend some of the words.” Alan opened the book to the first page and read aloud:

_Hear now the words of the witches._

_The secrets we hid in the night._

_The oldest of Gods are invoked here._

_The great work of magic is sought._

_In this night and in this hour._

_I call upon the Ancient Power._

_Bring your powers to these witches three!_

_They want the power._

_Give them the power._

               

               The chandelier above them began to shake and like before, soft blue and white light surrounded them. The light pierced them and filled them with warmth and security. It lasted for no more than a minute, but when it was done they felt no different.

               “I don’t get it.” Stiles looked down at himself, flipping his hands over. “That’s it?”

               “That’s it.” Claudia smiled. She turned to the fireplace and picked up a flower that was lying on the mantel. She threw it into the air and waved her hand, meaning to freeze it, but instead moved it across the room. She looked down at her hands in confusion.

               “Telekinesis was Katherine’s power…” Stiles said.

                “Yes,” Alan agreed, paying the comment no mind. “As I said before, Claudia, you could either receive your old power or gain a new one altogether. Stiles inherited yours and you received Katherine’s.”

               “Wait…” Claudia turned to Stiles. “How do you know about Katherine? I’ve never told you about my family.”

                “Well, dad mentioned them-”

                “I’ve never said their names.” Claudia began to walked, almost prowl, closer to Stiles, causing him to take a step back for every step she took forward.

                “Right. Right. It was, uh, it was Mrs. McCall. You two grew up together, you were friends-”

                “Your lying has not improved in the slightest since I’ve died.” Claudia had walked Stiles into the wall. “How do you know what powers your aunt had?”

               Stiles contemplated lying to her again or just all together avoiding the truth. He didn’t want her knowing that he’s seen the good, the bad, and the ugly of her life. Yet there was a bigger part of him that wanted to get to the bottom of his paternal mystery. By exposing her lies, he would get what he needed. There was a chance that would hurt her, but considering she’s hurt him more in the past two days, he was willing to risk it.

                “The book showed me.” Stiles pushed himself off the wall and stood up straighter. “It showed me everything.”

               There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Her guilt led her to what her son meant. She wanted ‘everything’ to mean just what it sounded like, but she knew her son better than that. He knew her darkest secret and he was going to expose it.

                _Gotcha_.

                It would be another hour later before Stiles left Peter’s apartment, his anger towards his mother keeping him warm in the cold wind. She had told him that the book showed her everything, that he knew about her and Peter. She tried to explain, but he didn't want to hear any of it. He found Alan waiting in the driver’s seat, the car already running. Derek leaned against the car door, his arms crossed over his chest.

               “So,” Derek pushed himself off the car door and opened it for Stiles. “We cousins after all?”

                Stiles stopped to glare briefly at Derek before climbing into the car. He slammed the door shut and locked it. Derek was now forced to ride up front with Alan. He mentally kicked himself in the ass, muttering to himself,

                “Nice one, asshole.”

               Unknown to them, a man in a black hoodie leaned against a light pole across the street, smoking a cigarette. His eyes were hidden underneath black sunglasses. He used his phone to take photos of Stiles as he came out of the building and into the car. When he smiled, his teeth were yellowed and jagged.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

               John walked into the hospital completely exhausted. It’s been two days since the witch’s murder and he had nothing to show for it other than a dead body and no evidence other than a sterile knife. It’s been a full day and a slice of night since his wife’s grave was desecrated, and again, he had nothing to show for it. Security footage showed nothing and their only ‘suspect’ was Coach Finstock, and he has since been cleared. He was hoping Melissa had something good for him.

                He’s been so busy today, running down dead-end leads that he forgot all about his phone. When he checked it half an hour ago, he had a couple missed calls from Melissa. He’d asked her to look in on the victim, see if anything he could use showed up on the body. Given the number of missed calls, he was hoping she found something urgent.

               “Could you page Nurse McCall and tell her I’m here to see her?” John asked the nurse at the front desk.

                “Sure thing, Sheriff.” The nurse smiled.

                “No need, Nellie.” Melissa called out, jogging up to the nurse’s station. “I’m here.”

               “Hi,” John smiled.

                “Hi,” Melissa smiled back. She turned to Nellie and gave her a chart. “Please give this to Mrs. Melena’s attending. I’m going on break; page me if needed.”

                “Yes, Mrs. McCall.” Nellie smiled widely. Being a young novice nurse who frequently watched marathons of Grey’s Anatomy and General Hospital, she was always looking for a steamy hospital romance since moving to this hospital. Who better to place money on than the Sheriff and the head nurse?

               “Thanks, Nellie.” Melissa said. She turned to John. “Can I buys you a bad cup of coffee?”

                “Sure.” John nodded at Nellie before following Melissa down the hall.

                Nellie made sure the Sheriff and Nurse McCall were around the corner and out of earshot before her fingers dialed up another training nurse to gossip over the phone. It wouldn’t be long after that before all the nurses from ground floor up to level three knew.

               John and Melissa stood in front of one of the many automated coffee vending machines outside an empty visitor waiting room.

               “Sorry about only just getting back to you. It’s been a rough couple days.”

                “It’s okay. I figured you were busy.”

                “So. Four missed calls; really hoping it has something to do with my dead witch.”

                “Not exactly.” Melissa bent down to retrieve John’s styrofoam cup from the dispenser. She handed him the lukewarm cup. “There’s something I need to talk to you about first.” She led him over to the waiting room and sat him down. “Have you spoken to or seen Stiles lately?”

                “Yesterday morning before heading to the graveyard. I got a text from his saying he was staying at your place last night.” John sipped his coffee and grimaced. “Why?”

               “I think the boys are up to something again. It might have something to do with the witch you found, working the supernatural side of things. I-I don’t know, but it didn’t look good.” Melissa looked over her shoulder to check if anyone was coming near the open doors. She shifted closer to John and kept her voice low. “From what I overheard this morning, Stiles told Scott that Doctor Deaton gave Stiles a key to a storage container and they were going to spend the day combing through it. I don’t know what for, but it was around noon when Scott called the house and said Stiles collapsed.”

               John was about to jump out of his seat, but Melissa touched his hand to keep him down. All those missed calls today were about his son being admitted to the hospital. Maybe it wasn’t the nogistine after all, maybe Stiles really did have what Claudia had. John should have been there for his son who was now lying in a hospital bed probably thinking that John didn’t care.

                “Melissa, where is he? Is he okay? Is he stable? What do the doctors say? Is it-”

                “John, slow down. Slow down.” She squeezed his hand to comfort him. “Stiles isn’t hear.”          

                “You said-”

                “I said he collapsed. Scott called and Isaac and I rushed over to the storage container. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but Scott said that would be a bad idea. Stiles wasn’t hurt, but just….knocked out. He touched one of the books in the storage container after it began to scream. Then, white light filled the container. Once it was gone, Stiles was on the floor unconscious. We brought Stiles back to our place and kept an key on him.”

                “But he’s okay, right? He’s awake now?” John knew if Stiles was still out, then Melissa wouldn’t be at work but instead at her house taking care of his son.

                “Slept six hours, but otherwise perfectly fine. No concussion, no damage of any kind.”

                John began to dig his cell out of his green Sheriff’s jacket. “Where is he now?”

               “He and the boys went off with Deaton. I don’t know where, but it seemed really important.” Melissa looked over John. His concern for his son, like always, over powered his extreme exhaustion. “What do you think they’re up to?”

               “I don’t know, Melissa. I honestly don’t know.” John sighed and slumped back in his seat. “Deaton’s a Druid, right, a type of witch? Maybe it’s like what you said, they’re working the witch killing from a different angle. Maybe Stiles got nosey and touched the wrong book. Maybe they’re off finding leads while I chase my tail.”

               “You are doing the best you can with what little you have.” Melissa squeezed his hand again. “It’s not like you can put ‘assisted by teen wolves’ in your report.”

                John cracked a half smile. “No, I guess not.” He turned towards Melissa. “How about Haley Bennett’s body? Any luck on that end?”

               Melissa shook her head. “I went over the autopsy records you sent over and the only thing these women had in common was that they were female, relatively the same age, died of the same causes, and” Melissa pulled out a photograph from her pocket, “they had the same tattoo.”

                John took the photograph. The tattoo itself was no more than a pencil eraser in size – three loops with a center circle connecting them.

                “Where on her body was it?”

                “Same place as all the others, bottom of her foot. I guess the other examiners didn’t pay that much attention to it, probably thought it was a freckle or a mole.”

                “But not you,” John smiled at her.

                Melissa smiled back. “But not me.”

**DEREK’S LOFT**

               Alan dropped Stiles and Derek off at the loft, instructing Derek to drive them both over to Scott’s. He warned them, again, that there was a killer in town targeting witches. Wherever Stiles went, Derek was to go as well until the killed moved on to the next town.

               The boys were getting into Derek’s black Camaro when Stiles stopped. He not so gently slapped the hood of the car.

                “Watch it!” Derek warned. “What is it?”

               “I forgot my cell in your place. It must have slipped out after that spark-thing threw me across the room.” Stiles shut his car door. “Wait here. I’ll be a few minutes.”

                “You could at least run!” Derek shouted after Stiles who was casually strolling up to the building.

               As usual, the building’s lobby was empty and dank. The building itself used to be loft space for struggling artists, but that quickly shut down after all the drugs busts. Derek owns the top two loft, and rents out the one he doesn’t use to a local TV personality. She pays Derek handsomely for his discursion.

               Stiles opened the elevator panel and got in. He was surprised to see someone already in there. He was tall, probably 5’11, wearing a black hoodie with his hands in the pockets. He was leaning against the back wall, his eyes closed and earphones in. Stiles could hear the Pearl Jam from where he stood at the entrance. He shrugged and got in, pressing the button for Derek’s floor.

                As the elevator started to move, so did the guy in the black hoodie. Stiles began to feel uncomfortable from the sounds coming from behind him. They were low and throaty, yet at the same time animalistic. Stiles turned to see if it was just the man’s music spilling out of his earphones. Instead, the man’s yellow jaundice eyes were open and his rotten teeth barred in a nasty snarl. He took his hand out of his pocket to reveal a thick, double edge steel knife.

                “Hello, witch.” The man voice crackled.

                “It’s you….” Stiles stumbled back to the edge of the wall. He could feel the elevator going up and his own heart dropping. “You’re the one killing witches.”

               “How observant.” The man mocked.

               Before Stiles could react, the man lunged towards him. Stiles yelled, throwing his hands into the air. He threw himself on the ground to doge the man’s blade. He looked up, expecting to see the man turning towards him, but instead saw the man was frozen in place. The wicked snarl grew more horrific the longer Stiles starred.

                Stiles shook himself. He didn’t know how long the freeze would last. He had to find a way out of the elevator and back to Derek. He looked around and realized that not only was the man immobile, but so was the elevator. He could see the gap to the next floor outside the barred doors. All Stiles had to do now was open the elevator door and crawl into the gap, praying that the freeze didn’t wear off prematurely and the elevator cut him in two.

                “Work fast, work fast,” Stiles muttered to himself. He put his weight behind him as he pushed the doors apart. “Okay, easy part over.”

                He placed his hands shoulder width apart on the ledge of the floor gap and pushed himself through. There wasn’t a lot of room, so he had to worm his way on his stomach to get through the rest of the gap. He was nearly there when the man unfroze and with it the elevator. The man grabbed on to Stiles’ ankle and began to pull. Stiles only had a split second to yank his legs out of the gap before the elevator went up, sealing the gap.

               Unfortunately for the man, he wasn’t as quick to let go. His hand was sliced clean off. Its grip on Stiles’ ankle slacked enough for him to pry it off, finger by finger. He dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time, until he got to Derek’s car in the parking garage.

                “Drive!” Stiles shouted, hastily opening the passenger door. “Drive!”

                Derek put the car in gear and sped out. He hit the main road, dodging oncoming traffic and swearing into his lane. He looked over at Stiles’ red, panicked face. “What the hell happened?”

                “The killer. The witch killer.” He panted. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “He was in the elevator. He tried to kill me. I froze him and climbed out of the elevator. He grabbed on to me when he unfroze, but the elevator chopped his hand off.”

                “How did he find you?” Derek asked. He’d seen Alan be careful about taking the less obvious roots to Peter’s and Derek’s place to prevent something like this from happening. Derek’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Where is he now?”

                “Probably bleeding out in your elevator.”

                “I’ll drop you off at Scott’s and head back to finish him.” Derek said.

                “No you won’t.” Stiles said, his eyes shooting open. “You know what happens every time you take on a magical creature by yourself. You get your ass handed to you. No. Let’s play this one safe and get to Scott’s. At least there we’ll have home-field advantage and the pack’s numbers in case he tried to come at me again.”

               Derek was silent as he dug out his cell from his pants pocket. He tossed it at Stiles. “Call Scott.”

**MCCALL FAMILY HOME**

                “Scott!” Stiles shouted as he and Derek burst through the door. Derek latched it behind him as Stiles began pacing in the living room.

                “Yeah,” Scott called back from the garage. “Coming!”

                Derek waited in the living room as Stiles paced. One by one the pack filed in from the garage – Lydia, Malia, Kira, Isaac, and Scott. Their clothes were covered in dirt and dust, sweat shone from their skin.

               “What’s going on?” Lydia asked. She took one look at Stiles’ pacing to know something was up. Derek’s scowl wasn’t much help considering it was practically his resting face.

               “Attacked by the witch killer in Derek’s elevator.” Stiles said right off the bat.

                Scott turned to Isaac and Malia. “Lock all the door and windows. Make sure everything is locked up tight. Turn the alarm on when it’s clear.”

               The two nodded and set off. Lydia dashed back into the garage and came back a moment later carrying the Book of Shadows.

                “Where’d you get that?” Stiles asked.

                “Deaton dropped it off not too long ago.” Lydia sat down on the couch next to Derek and began flipping through the yellowed pages. “What did he look like?”

                “Who?”

                “The killer! What did he look like?”

                “Pasty skin. Jaundice eyes. Rotten, crooked teeth.” Stiles sat down on the arm of the couch beside Lydia. “What are you looking for?”

                “While everyone was moving your mom’s boxes into the garage, I was looking through the book. Seeing if there was anything that could help get the killer. Apparently, it’s a warlock.” She found the page she was looking for. In bolded calligraphy script, the page was entitled ‘Warlock’. Next to the title was an artistic drawing of a man similar to the one Stiles fought. “Short version, Warlocks are considered the evil counterpart to witches. Most warlocks are driven by the desire to kill and obtain the powers of witches. However, there are various sub-species with their own distinctions and desires. There are several ways for one to become a warlock, though one can also be born as one. Warlocks rank low in the Hierarchy of Evil and are virtual second class citizens in the Underworld.”

                “There’s a ‘Hierarchy of Evil’ in the ‘Underworld’?” Kira asked. “A literal ‘Underworld’ for evil?”

                “Can this this get any better?” Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

                “Does it say how to kill one?” Derek asked.

                She turned to page and on the back, in bold calligraphy print, read ‘How to Kill’. “That was easy.” It took Lydia a minute to skim through the page to find something useful. “Here. Uh, the most generic spell to kill off lower-level intent-nonspecific warlocks is ‘ _the Power of Three will set us free’_ repeated three times with the three witch’s hand interlock.”

                “We’re two witches short for that, Lydia.” Stiles said.

                “What do you want from me, Stiles, this is your book!” Lydia shouted.

                A loud crash from the kitchen ripped everyone’s attention. Isaac, dragging Malia behind him by her shirt collar, came running back into the room.

                “He’s here. They guys here.”

                “We could have taken him!” Malia shouted, ripping herself firm Isaac’s hold.

               “No, you couldn’t have.” Stiles said. Malia was about to argue, but thought better of it. She trusted Stiles’ word above the pack itself. If the pack was dying, she’d leave them and run, but she would come back for Stiles. Maybe Scott, since he’s her Alpha, but there was no questioning her loyalty to Stiles.

               Derek stood and placed himself in front of Stiles and Lydia, his claws and fangs extended. Kira unsheathed her sword and stood beside Scott and the others. Scott turned to Stiles.

               “You and Lydia get to the garage and figure something out. We’ll hold him off.” Scott nodded at Derek, a silent agreement that he would go with them for protection.

                Derek grabbed Stiles and Lydia by their arms and dragged them to the garage. He locked the door behind them. While Stiles and Lydia bickered about how to vanquish a warlock, Derek pulled out his phone. He typed in,

                _“Get to Scott’s. Killer is here trying to kill Stiles. Pack holding him off. Stiles working on plan in garage.”_

Derek typed in the Sheriff’s number and hit send. He slid his phone back and poised himself for an attack.

               “We don’t have three witches, Lydia! What else are we supposed to do?”

                “I don’t know. Figure something out! You always do!”

                “Well, what else does it say in the book? Is there another way?”

                “Not unless you want to write your own spell!” Lydia shouted. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she knew she’d solved it. Stiles, too, could see that. He began to shake his head.

                “No. No.” He backed up. “I have no idea to write a spell! How to preform one!”

                Lydia opened the book once more and flipped to the warlock’s page. She skimmed it further before slamming her finger down. “It’s okay! You can create your own spell for just about anything, including warlocks.” Outside the garage door, she could hear the fighting going on. Yelling and growling and furniture being broken. She forced herself to concentrate. “Four lines, the last word in each rhyming in an ABCB pattern.”

                “Lydia-”

                Lydia slammed the book shut. She glared intensely at Stiles. “Your friends, your pack, is fighting to keep you alive. Can’t you hear it? You are brilliant, Stiles Stilinski, unorthodoxly brilliant. And if all it takes is a four line poem to kill this son-of-a-bitch, then by God you will do it. You’ve always done your best work under pressure.” She pulled a piece of paper and a pencil off the small work bench and handed it to him. “You write, I’ll get the supplies.”

                “Nice pep-talk,” Derek muttered. He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles. “Is it working?”

                Stiles ignored him and sat down cross-legged on the floor. He began to write furiously on the paper, scratching out words every now and then to write something else. Lydia went from box to box, looking for what she needed. She glance up at the door every time she heard a scream before forcing herself to get back to work.

                “Derek, come help me.” Lydia waved him over. She pulled out nine white candles and handed them to him. “Place them in a circle around him. Don’t light them yet, I have to sprinkle holly water over them.”

                Derek did as he was told and placed the nine white candles evenly around Stiles. Lydia continued to search for the right box, mumbling to herself that she had seen it before. They had quickly become used to the noises of the fighting outside the door and when it all went quite, they froze.

                “Keep looking.” Derek told Lydia as he crept to the door.

               He was almost there when it splintered open. Stiles and Lydia both ducked, covering their faces from the flying shrapnel. Derek wasn’t so lucky; he caught a sizeable shard in his leg. Crying out in pain, he fell to one knee.

                “Knock. Knock.” The warlock smiled as he stepped through the doorway. His clothing was slashed and stained bloody, his face the same way, yet his eyes seemed to shine in the dime light. The knife in his hand was dripping blood.

               “Oh God,” Lydia gasped.

                “I’m afraid he’s a busy at the moment.” The warlock stepped closer. A smile twisted on his face. His mouth opened to say something else witty, but Derek pounced. He was full on were-wolf now.

                “Finish the spell!” Derek shouted to neither of them in particular as he fought the warlock.

                Lydia ripped through boxes looking for the holy water as Stiles pushed himself to write. Derek kept himself between the circle and the warlock. He took the knife’s stinging cuts in stride.

                “Got it!” Lydia screamed. She stepped inside the circle and sprinkled the holy water over the candles as fast as she could. When she finished, she tossed the bottle at Derek. “Derek!”

                He turned in time to catch it the bottle, but also caught the knife’s blade in his side. He yelled out in pain. As he turned, he emptied the bottle of Holy Water in the Warlock’s face. He backed off, screaming in terrible pain. The knife fell from his hands and he dropped to his knees. Smoke began to rise from the warlock’s burning face.

                “Derek! Derek!”

               Lydia reached out her hand, and with Stiles’ help, pulled him into the circle. Derek leaned against Lydia’s chest for support. He dug a lighter out of his pocket and handed it to Stiles. He lit the candles in front of him then passed the lighter to Lydia to light the ones near here.

                “Ready?” Stiles asked. His hands were shaking as he held the scratch paper in front of him. He took a deep breath before ready, the distant noise of sirens washed over him. He read –

“ _Evil is a faithful Foe,_

_But Good does battle Best._

_We Witches will with these Words,_

_Waste This Warlock's Evil Zest!”_

               Before their eyes, the warlock began to glow with a furious white light from within him. On his knees, face burned nearly off, his hands stained bloody, he tilted his head back for a final yell. White light shone like beacons out of his eyes and mouth. To them, it last an eternity when in reality it was merely a few seconds. The light disappeared, blowing out the candles as it went, and the warlock’s body collapsed onto the floor.

               “ _’Warlock’s evil zest’_?” Lydia asked. “What is he, a citrus?”

                “It worked, didn’t it?”

               The sirens grew louder as did the sounds of engines filed the silence. Sheriff Stilinski’s cruiser pulled into the McCall driveway. Leaving the engine running, John shot out of his car with his gun drawn and the safety off. Deputy Parrish got out of the passenger side and accompanied him in. Parrish had invited himself along. Having only worked in Beacon Hills a couple months, he was able to tell when something big was going down that the Sheriff didn’t wasn’t anyone to know about from the look on John’s face.

                The two officers entered the house. Furniture was broken and lying around the floor, clearly indicating a massive struggle. Blood stains lined the walls and pooled on the floor. Parrish tapped John’s shoulder and pointed with his gun to a pair of feet coming from under a grandfather clock.

                As the two made their way over to the clock, they noticed the other bodies lying around the room. Scott McCall was behind the couch, a deep gash on his head caused blood to pool underneath it; Kira Yukimura was lying face down in front of the fireplace, her sword inches from her hand; Malia Tate was on her back on the dining table, her head hanging off the edge and blood dripping to the ground from her ears, nose, and mouth.

                Parrish lifted the clock as much as he could while John pulled the body out from underneath. It was Isaac McCall. Like the others, he was bloody, his clothing torn, and his eyes closed. John checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one. He signaled that Parrish stay behind here and check the others for a pulse. Parrish nodded and began calling for back up and EMTs.

                John lifted his gun and followed the trail of blood drops. They were small, perfectly round, and in a straight line. Someone was carrying a bloody weapon, most likely a knife, in this direction. John didn’t see Stiles with the rest of his pack’s bodies. He was sending silent prayers for his son’s safety as he made his way to the garage. That’s were Derek said they would be.

               He turned the corner to the garage door carefully, his weapon raised. The door to the garage had been kicked in. He stepped through the empty doorway and was relieved to see Stiles alive and unharmed. At least physically. He was pale and shaking slightly, but otherwise unharmed. Derek, on the other hand, looked about the same as the rest of the pack in the living room.

                “Dad?” Stiles asked. He stood up and was about to get out of the candle circle, but John waved him down.

                “Stay there!” John placed himself between the circle and the body lying on the floor. He aimed his gun down on the body and none too gently nudged it with his boot. When nothing happened, he used his foot to roll the body over. The warlock starred up at him with cold, dead eyes. John holstered his gun.

                “Is he dead?” Derek asked quietly. Lydia was trying to keep him awake by patting his face and shaking him.

                John walked over, nodding. He took in the scene – dead witch killer, most likely another supernatural being; a pack of unconscious werewolves in the living room; a candle circle protecting his son, another werewolf, and a banshee; and a green leather bound book, an occult symbol on the front, that possibly containing witchcraft.

                “This is your story.” As he spoke, he picked up the candles and threw them into a box. “You guys were throwing a party since Melissa was at work. The doorbell rang and you thought it was the pizza delivery guy. Isaac opened the door and before he could close it, that guy,” John nodded his head to the dead warlock, “brought out his knife and forced his way in. You guys got brave and started fighting back. Don’t get specific on this part. Just say ‘everything happened so fast’. Next thing you know, you three are the only ones left standing. Derek pulls you into the garage. Dead guy follows. Derek fights him off. Derek wins. Dead guy dies. Do you understand?” John knelt down in front of them. “Do you understand?”

                Stiles and Lydia nodded. Derek was already drifting off. They weren’t concerned with his injuries, he’d be fine in a couple hours.

                “Good.” Jon threw his arms around Stiles and hugged him tight. More sirens began to fill the air. Soon, half of Beacon Hill’s police department would swarm in along with several medics.

                Stiles pulled back. “What about everyone else. Are they…?”

                “Since all of them are werewolves, they’ll be fine. It’s Kira I’m worried about.” John became serious once more. He looked at both Stiles and Lydia. “I’ll get the deputies to take statements from only you three. Okay? But you need to memorize what I told you. Got that? You tell them what I told you.”

                “Got it.”

                The big garage door opened from the outside, slowly covering the four of them in bright headlights and red and blue police lights. John nodded to the two of them. _It’s show time._ EMTs rushed over and took Derek away, strapping him to a bed and wheeling him into the ambulance to be taken to the hospital. John gathered the deputies not working the crime scene inside and instructed them that interviews were to be given only to Stiles and Lydia. They were the only two left standing and the others were already on their way to the hospital. There was no need to bother them, when Stiles and Lydia saw everything. The deputies nodded, no questions asked. Two questioned Stiles, and two questioned Lydia. John was pleased to hear them give the same story, throwing in _‘it all happened so fast’_ when they couldn’t remember a piece of the lie.

                When the interviews were over, John loaded them into his cruiser and drove to the hospital.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

               Melissa was already waiting by the nurses’ station in the ER, frantically pacing. She had seen the ambulances pull up and thought nothing of it until one of the nurses told her that her sons were in them. She nearly had a heart attack. Being the mother to two of the victims, she was ushered out of the ER and told to wait. No one, not even her own staff, would tell her what had happened other than they were attacked in her home.

               When she saw them walk out of the elevator, she practically pounced on them.

                “What the hell happened?!” She yelled. Her eyes were shinning with worry and fright. “They said it happened at my home. That there was a party and the pizza man-”

                “Melissa, calm down.” John said, folding her into a hug. He did partially to comfort her, but also so that he could tell her what he needed to without anyone else overhearing. “I told Stiles and Lydia to lie to my deputies. I gave them a fake story.”             

                “But what happened?” She whispered fiercely into his chest.

                He pulled back and looked darkly at the teens behind him. “I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.”

                Melissa took them into the same waiting room she had been talking to John in earlier that night. Stiles and Lydia sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs as John and Melissa stood in front of them. Stiles began the story by explain that the killer was actually a warlock who killed all those witches for their powers, then went on to when he was attacked in Derek’s elevator and what really happened at the McCall’s house. He told them about the Book of Shadows, about the spell casting, and about how the Warlock actually died. Melissa and John were shocked to say the least.

                “How do you know all that? Where did you get this…this Book of Shadows from? And why was it that the Warlord, or whatever you called it, came after you?” All these questions and more were asked by John and Melissa both. Stiles didn’t know how to answer them tactfully and without giving away the truth. He didn’t know how John would react to his son being a witch and his wife, who is also a witch, being alive and seeking refuge in her ex-lover’s apartment.

                Lydia took Stiles’ hand and squeezed. He looked over at her and saw profound pity in her eyes. She knew what he had to do. “Tell them.” He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He nodded and Lydia got up. She took Melissa’s hand. “They need to be alone for this.”

                Melissa looked confused, but followed Lydia out anyways.

                It took two hours for Stiles to confess everything, starting from when he began receiving his powers after the nogistine possession and ending with the events of tonight. He told his father about what the book showed him. He told his father that he was a witch, coming from a long line of witches that included his mother. He told his father that the only reason Claudia never told him she was a witch was there was no reason to, she knew they were safe to live normal lives. And besides, she knew he would never believe her. Stiles left out no detail however insignificant except anything to do with Peter after Claudia met John – not the cheating, not the hospital visits. Stiles would at least spare his father some pain before ripping his heart out when he said that Claudia was alive. They don’t know how or why, but she clawed her way out of her grave.

                During the two hours Stiles spent confessing to John, Melissa spent the time altering the medical records of the werewolves (and werecoyote) to make their wounds seem extremely superficial enough to warrant them immediate release from the hospital. They were already beginning to heal quickly and it would be beyond suspicious if they got up and walked out on their own. The only pack member Melissa had to worry about was Kira. She suffered a mild concussion and two broken ribs. She had managed to fend off the knife’s blade with her sword. When Kira’s parents got here, Melissa explained what had really happened after the cops gave them the “real” story. They agreed to go along with what the police said and promised to get Kira to do the same.

                By the time Stiles walked out of the waiting room, Melissa had sent the pack back to her house to clean up whatever they could if the police said it was okay. When she saw Stiles, he had tear tracks coming down his cheeks, his eyes were covered in a layer of guilt and regret.

               “Stiles?” She stopped him by placing her hands on his shoulders. “Stiles, honey, what’s wrong?”

                Stiles shook his head and shrugged her off. He walked out the Emergency Room doors when Derek sat waiting in a plastic chair. They left together.

               Confused, Melissa walked over to the waiting room she’d left the Stilinski boys in. She looked through the glass and saw John starring down at his hand as he twisted his wedding ring around his finer. If she looked closely, she saw the same wet tear tracks on his cheeks as was on Stiles.

                “John?” She called out softly as she walked in. He didn’t give any indication that he heard her.

               She sat down in the chair beside him. Whatever had just happened, she figured that he needed time to understand make sense out of it. So, she sat there and waited. She had left her beeper at the nurses station so there was no calls she needed to take; her son’s pack, with the exception of Kira, has been discharged from the hospital and where safe from prying medical eyes. She would sit here and wait until John was ready to talk.

               It would be another hour and nearly midnight before that happened. Melissa was beginning to doze off when John lifted his head. The tear tracks had dried leaving behind red eyes as the only evidence that they were there. He looked at her, his face void of all emotion, and said three words she never expected to hear -

               “Claudia is alive.”


	7. Chapter 6

**BEACON HILLS POLICE STATION**

**SHERIFF’S OFFICE**

                It has been a little over a week since all hell broke loose within the pack, and the Stilinski family was still trying to recover.

                John dealt with his confusion and anger the only way he knew best – by throwing himself into his work, occasionally coming out of it long enough for a strong drink. His wife was alive and his son was a witch…how was he expected to deal with that? Living in this town, this mecca for the supernatural, he had never once considered the possibility that his family would somehow be involved on this level. Sure, Stiles was in a pack, but he was human up until a few months ago.

                He was ashamed to admit it, be he has been avoiding Stiles. He’d work late, come home in the early hours of the night when Stiles was sleeping, then repeat it all over again. Stiles was his son, always has been and always will be, and nothing could ever change that. John knew avoiding his son was hurting the situation rather than helping it, but he just didn’t know what to say or how to act.

                Melissa was the only one he would actually talk to. She’d stop by the station on her way to the hospital with coffee and bagels. She liked her coffee with extra cream and extra sugar, but her bagels plain. John was the opposite; he liked his coffee plain and his bagels buttered and creamed. On her first visit to the station, she told him about the first time she saw Scott as a werewolf last year during the Kanima attack. She explained that she, too, avoided her son for the same reasons John was.

                “Sooner or later you two will have to talk,” Melissa would reminded him. “I’m surprised his patience has held out this long.”

               Stiles’ prolonged patience might have something to do with John’s and Melissa’s coffee-and-bagel talks. She’d tell Scott the highlights, and in turn, Scott would tell Stiles. For the first couple of weeks, their talks focused on Stiles. They were both reeling from the news of Claudia’s comeback. It wasn’t until recently John brought up his former late-wife. He didn’t say it in words, but lightly tossed Melissa a copy of the day’s newspaper.

               In bold print across the headline of the _Watch Tower_ , Beacon Hills’ town paper, read - _Safe Return of Beacon Hills Own_. Underneath the title was a picture of Claudia Stilinski. The story read like a summary of a TNT cop drama to John, but it was the story Claudia conjured and sold to the local news to sell her return as anything other than it really was.

               The article began by praising Claudia for her courage and determination in being able to leave her husband and nine year old son to enter the Witness Protection Program all those years ago. She had witnessed a gruesome murder of a young woman while he was attending college in Georgia. She’d gone to the police and that was that, she moved on with her life. It was only until recently that the college murder was connected to the work of a serial killer. The FBI team on the case believed that Claudia was in danger. The only way for the serial killer to not come after her was to fake her own death. Unfortunately, to keep her safe, she was not allowed to tell her own family - John Stilinski, then Deputy Chief of the Beacon Hills Police Department, and their nine year old son, Stiles Stilinski. She is now able to come home out of hiding now that the serial killer is dead. He was killed right here in Beacon Hills after attacking a house party of teenagers that Claudia’s son was attending. The teenagers suffered minor injuries in their heroic take down of the killer.

                Melissa put the newspaper back on John’s desk. Like him, she was confused. “Has she said anything to you or Stiles about this?”

                “I don’t know about Stiles, but she’s been calling me since I found out about her being…not dead. I never answer, but she leaves voicemails…” He trailed off in thought. He’d listen to her voicemails every night for the past three weeks to hear her voice. No matter how much it hurt him, he needed to come to terms with this new reality. A reality were his wife was alive and wanting to see him.

               “What did she say in her voicemails?” Melissa asked softly.

               She, too, had gotten a couple voicemails from Claudia. They mainly explained that Claudia missed her and wanted to see her again, explain everything as much as she could, but would wait for Melissa to call her back. Melissa appreciated that Claudia didn’t push to see her or just drop by the hospital. She wanted Melissa to contact her, signifying that she was comfortable enough to talk. Claudia would do the same for John and Stiles.

               “She did give me a heads up on the newspaper. She asked the paper not to contact me or Stiles for a comment. Can’t say I’m not grateful for that. She wants to talk. She wants to see me….see Stiles. She tried explaining everything as much as she could, but she doesn’t know how she came back. One moment she’s in the hospital and the next she’s clawing through wood six feet under.”

               “Did she mention where she was staying?”

               John shook his head. “Just someplace safe. She wants to wait till the media coverage dies down enough to show her face around Beacon Hills.” He looked directly at Melissa. “How does Stiles feel about all this?”

                “It’s different for him.” Melissa shifted in her seat, looking for the right words. “He has the pack to help him through it, although I know he’d prefer his dad.” Melissa looked down at her watch and saw that she would be late for her shift if she didn’t leave now. She stood up. John followed suit. “Scott mentioned that Alan is going to teach Stiles the basics. He’s nearly always at either Derek’s or Alan’s practicing.”

               With a smile and a wave, the nurse walked out of the Sheriff’s office.

               It was later that evening when Melissa’s words finally sunk in. He had looked up from a case file he was reading and glanced around at his desk, case files open and cluttering the space. A silver picture frame caught his attention. He picked it up and held it in his hands. The picture was taken a couple days after Stiles was born. John sat in a wooden rocking chair in the nursery with Stiles in his arms, swaddled in a baby blue blanket that had a paw print embroidered on the corner. Although the picture didn’t show it, John fully remembered humming ‘ _Hey_ _Jude’_ to Stiles as he drifted off.

                John put the picture back on his desk and began fishing his keys out of his coffee mug.

**DEREK’S LOFT**

               Since coming out to his father as a witch, and not speaking to him since, Stiles has had to relocate his mother’s boxes from Scott’s garage to Derek’s loft. Derek wasn’t too thrilled when he suggested it, but knew it would be the best place for Stiles to practice magic. It was secluded, quiet, and no chance of anyone looking at. And the best part, Derek was able to keep a closer eye on Stiles without wasting gas.

                The only thing Derek was even grumpier about, other than the takeover of his loft, was the near constant presence of Lydia Martin. Since helping Stiles vanquish the warlock a couple weeks ago, she and Stiles have become platonic partners in crime. While the pack does….whatever they do, Derek and Lydia are helping Stiles learn his craft.

               Currently, while Stiles worked on his potion making skills, Lydia was perched on the corner of a table creating her own potion.

               “What are you doing?” Derek asked, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose.

               Stiles sniffed around his potion and didn’t smell anything. He leaned over to sniff Lydia’s and still didn’t smell anything. Must be a werewolf thing, sensitive noses and all.

               “I’m making nail polish.” Lydia said, stirring the soft lavender liquid. “Wolfsbane-infused nail polish so I can backhand punk-ass werewolves like the queen I am.”

               Stiles chuckled. He had to give it to them, Derek and Lydia in combination were starting to grow on him. He already trusted them both separately with his life, but know he trusted his life with them as a team. This was their team, their little witchcraft team, within the pack. The way Stiles was beginning to see the pack’s formation shift was that Scott was the alpha, the boss man, with Isaac, Kira, and Malia as his fighters; Stiles, the pack’s emissary, was Scott’s second, and under Stiles’ section of the pack was Lydia, the early-warning radar, and Derek, the bodyguard. It probably won’t always be as broken down like that, but the majority of the time it was.

               Derek’s head sharply turned toward the door. He flung out his claws and stepping in front of Stiles and Lydia. “Someone’s coming.”

               “Can you tell who?”

               Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He retracted his claws before opening his eyes. He turned to Stiles. “It’s your dad.”

                “Who’s dad?” Stiles turned to look at Lydia and then back at Derek. He pointed a finger at himself. “My dad?”

               “Yeah, dumbass.” Derek took his jacket off the back of a chair. He swung it on. “Want’s some coffee, Lydia? There’s a café across the street that isn’t too bad.”

                Lydia glanced at Stiles. She got the hint that he and his dad needed to be alone for this one. “Sure.”

               Derek opened the door just as John was about to knock. His fist was already curled in mid-air. He put his fist down and nodded to Derek. Derek nodded back. He stood there silently at the door and waited for Lydia before they both left. John closed the door behind him.

               Stiles stood awkwardly in front of the table he had his ‘cauldron’ (a big stainless steel pot over a plug in stove) brewing on. Random ingredients, a few Stiles could hardly pronounce, were laid out. Lydia’s nail polish concoction was simmering peacefully off to the side. Stiles didn’t know what he should be doing or what he should be saying at the moment. What do you say to someone who’s been avoiding you because you’re a witch? Long time no see?

                Stiles didn’t have enough time to think of something witty or sarcastic to say. John had quickly walked away from the door and pulled Stiles into a tight embrace. John held Stiles to him like he was the lifejacket that would save him from drowning. That was what Stiles was to John – his solace. Without his son, John had been spiraling downwards with only Melissa to confide in. She was right, it should have been Stiles he talked to. And if John, a full grown man, was that bad, how bad could his teenage son have been?

               “I’m sorry.” John whispered just as fiercely as his hug. “I’m sorry I walked out on you.”

                “In all fairness, I was the one who walked out at the hospital.” Stiles whispered back.

                “No.” John pulled back and held his son’s face in his hands. “No. I’m the parent. I should have been the one trying to talk to you and you be the one avoiding me. Not the other way around. I should have just talked to you.”

                “Talking about this stuff is pretty new to you, dad. I shouldn’t have just sprung it on to you like that.” Stiles gave his dad a half smile. “Anyway, you’re talking now.”

                John chuckled. He let go of his son’s face. “Wouldn’t mind talking a little more over dinner. I’m starving.”

               “Me too. Just, uh,” Stiles looked around his work station, “let me clean up a bit first.”

                As Stiles put away his ingredients back into jars and then into boxes, John walked around to glance down at the potion pots. The first one was a clear with blue bubbles floating up to the top; the second one was a light lavender color that smelled floral.

               “What are you making?” John asked, fighting the urge to stir the clear potion with the wooden spoon.

                “Me? I’m trying to create a bug repellant for this type of worm that eats cabbage.” John looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I know. I’m starting off small before working my way up into important potions. Derek’s afraid I’m going to blow something up if I skip ahead.”

               “And this one?”

                “Lydia’s.”

                “She’s not a…?”

                “No. No.” Stiles picked up his red hoodie and put it on. “She’s still a banshee. She’s just making nail polish.”

                “Sounds like Lydia.” John smiled.

               “Let me write a quick note to Derek then we can go.” Stiles ripped a page out of some random notebook and scribbled a message out -

                _Gone to dinner with the Sheriff. Let the mix cool for the night and I’ll be back in the morning to clean it up. Don’t worry, it won’t blow up._

**OLIVE GARDEN**

                John and Stiles barely talked on the way over to the Olive Garden. John didn’t know where to start and Stiles didn’t want to pressure him. When they got to the restaurant, John asked the hostess to seat them somewhat far away from everyone else. The hostess looked slightly puzzled, but complied. She led them away from the main room and towards the back. There were two other couples there and plenty of space between everyone.

                “Is this okay, sir?”

                “Perfect. Thank you.” John sat down. Stiles sat opposite of him. And just like before, they sat there quietly, this time with a menu to distract them.

                A woman with blonde curls walked over and stopped in front of their table. She had a lovely smile. “Hello. My name is Britany and I’ll be your server this evening.” She dug her notepad and pen out of her apron. “What can I get for you to drink?”

               “Water for me, thank you.” John said.

                “Same here,” Stiles echoed.

               “All righty. I’ll have those out for you in a minute.”

                She was about to turn away when something caught Stiles’ attention. “Hey, I love that tattoo.” Brittany held out her right hand to show them the angel tattooed on top. “I thought it was illegal to get them on your hand because of the veins?”

                “In the states, yeah. I got in done in Tahiti on my honeymoon last month.”

                “Congratulations.” John smiled.

                “Thank you.” She smiled back genuinely. “I’ll got get your drinks.”

                Brittany left and returned a few minutes later with their drinks, took their order, and left again. Still, John hasn’t said anything to Stiles other than small talk. Stiles decided to break through the ice before John kept sliding.

                “So,” Stiles said, tapping his hands on the table. “I’m a witch because mom was a witch. She passed it to me. It’s hereditary.”

               “And as a witch is what, exactly? Do you fly around on a broom stick?” He glanced down nervously at Stiles’ drink. “Will you melt if water’s splashed on you?”

               Stiles smiled. “I don’t think the wizard of Oz is a great example reference, dad.” He took a sip of water. “A witch is a human that can manifest magical [powers](http://charmed.wikia.com/wiki/Powers); almost always hereditarily. Like regular human, witches can be either good or evil, but only good witches serve to protect. Like you. And contrary to popular belief, witches don’t actually receive their powers from [demons](http://charmed.wikia.com/wiki/Demon), and they don’t worship the Devil. Instead, witches use their powers to hunt and vanquish evil caused by other supernatural creatures in order to protect innocent people and to make the world a safer place. And before you ask, the term "witch" is not exclusive to females. Like me, a guy can also be a witch, but it doesn’t happen that often.” He smiled. “I’m a rare commodity.”

               “And all these people who have occult shops and claim to be witches might actually be witches?”

               “Not all the time, no. There are two classifications of witches – witch practitioner and magical witches. I’m a magical witch. Mom’s a magical witch. Her family line is nothing but magical witches. Most of the time, people who claim to be witches are just practitioners.”

               “What’s the difference between the two?”

                “Practitioners practice witchcraft, but lack any true magical powers. They usually follow the Neopagan religion of Wicca. However, some practitioners do have the fundamental Wiccan abilities of casting effective [spells](http://charmed.wikia.com/wiki/Spell_Casting) and brewing potions, but just simply lack an active power, as well as the power of [Scrying](http://charmed.wikia.com/wiki/Scrying).”

               “’Scrying’?”

                “The magical ability to find a person or an object through the use of a crystal and a map. All you have to do is hold the crystal pendant over a map of the area where you think the lost person or object will be. The more violent and vigorous the swing of the pendant, the closer you are to the object on the map coordinates, like a "warm or cold" method of looking for something. The pendant will eventually pinpoint the exact location of the object or person by pulling down on to a spot on the map after a certain amount of time.”

               “Doesn’t seem that accurate.”

               “For a scry to pinpoint the exact location of something, usually an item of that person is needed, like clothes or blood.”

               “How do you know all this? Is it just downloaded into your brain after you receive your powers?”

                “Sort of.” Stiles smiled over the rim of his glass. “It’s called reading.”

               John took a break from his questioning to drink his water. “And these ‘active powers’ you mentioned. What are they?”

               “Powers are traits every magical witch inherits. They are a biological part that predominately resides in the blood. A power can manifest itself in several ways: in the onset of puberty, as a reflex when a being is in direst need, or just when the being is ready to receive the power.” Stiles shifted in his seat. “You have to keep in mind, dad, that powers are neither good nor bad, but a matter of how they’re used. However, several powers have been associated with either one of the sides. For example; the ability to [create fire](http://charmed.wikia.com/wiki/Pyrokinesis) is associated with evil because they commonly possess fire-based powers.”

               “And you? What are your powers?”

               “Besides the basics of spell casting, potion making, and scrying, my active power is[Molecular Immobilization](http://charmed.wikia.com/wiki/Molecular_Immobilization). It’s a defensive power that slows down molecules to the point where they move so slowly that objects and people appear completely motionless. I call it freezing, but then people think of it like [Arnold Schwarzenegger’s ](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000216/?ref_=tt_cl_t1)Mr. Freeze instead of Adam Sandler’s pause-button-on-life type of freeze.”

               “How long does that usually last?”

               “A couple seconds. A minute at max.”

               “And you can control this power, right? I don’t want you using it unless you know how it.”

                “I can’t control it. I couple panic and _freeze_ the entire restaurant. But don’t worry,” Stiles quickly add, seeing the wheels turn in John’s head. “Deaton’s been helping me. It won’t be long before I can.”

                John took a deep breath. He had to put faith in his son. This was his life, his burden, and although John was his father, he needed to let his son grow into his own. That doesn’t mean John freighted all parental rights to kicking his ass whenever he royally screws up, but he’ll tell Stiles afterwards to treat it as a learning experience.

               John saw Brittany on her way over with their food. They stopped the ‘shop talk’ long enough to eat. Stiles plowed through his cheese ravioli like it was the first meal he’s had in days. John didn’t doubt it since Stiles’ cooking skills fell short of microwaveable. John ate his garlic rosemary chicken like a normal person. When they’re finished, Brittany takes away their plates, leaving the check.

               “You can pay whenever you’re ready.” Brittany smiled before leaving.

                John tapped his hand on the check. His wedding ring caught the lighting. He stilled his hand to look down at the golden vow.

               “Stiles…” John started off slow, not looking at his son. “What do you think about your mother coming back? The story she’s spinning.”

                “I-I think it’s a reasonable story, I guess. The best way to sell a lie is to surround it by the truth. The warlock did kill people, FBI was actually looking for him, he did attack a ‘party’ I was at...”

               John nodded. He looked up at his son. “But how do you feel about it?”

                “What do you mean?”

                “She died, Stiles. You know better than anyone, better than me. And now, unexplainably, she’s back. All our grieving and our fight to move past it, just gone. Like that,” he snapped his fingers. “Be honest with you, I don’t know what to feel. I’m overjoyed that she’s alive, I’m angry that she’s back, I’m hurt that she didn’t tell me she was a witch, and I’m afraid.”

               “Afraid? She’s not a zombie, dad. She won’t eat us.”

                “No, Stiles, that’s not why.” He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that if I see her again, that if I let her back into my life, back into our lives, that I’ll lose her again. We’ll be happy, we’ll live like a normal family like we were supposed to, but for how long? How long is she back? I don’t know.” He started shaking his head. “And I can’t take the chance. Not with her. Not again. We tried…we tried beating the clock once and it didn’t work. Who’s to say it won’t happen again.”

               “You’re right, dad. You’re right.” Stiles nodded his head. “We don’t know. And neither does she. It could be for a week, a month…a year? Who knows! All I know is that she’s back and she’s not going anywhere any time soon. So work out whatever issues you need to work out. She wants to see us.” Stiles leaned back in his chair and hung his head. “And I don’t know long I can keep saying no.”

               “You want to see her again?” John asked quietly.

                Stiles looked up at his dad. “Don’t you?”

               “It’ll hurt.”

               “How else would you know you love her?”

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

                After last night’s heart-to-heart, John and Stiles’ relationship was back on track. There were still some kinks to be worked out, but what father/son relationship doesn’t have those? It was around seven in the morning and John found himself making pancakes in the kitchen while listening to a History Channel documentary on the Salem Witch Trials. He had a pastel yellow apron on the cover his uniform from any spills.

                _“Proving that they were the Devil’s disciples was no easy task for the court of the Salem witch trials. But a remarkable event occurred.”_

               John poured two spoonfuls of pancake batter on the pan. He set the heat to medium-high.

               _“One of the accused, Mary Estes, ran for the church to profess her innocence. When suddenly, there was a clap of thunder and she was struck by a bolt of lightning.”_

               John flipped the pancakes over and pressed on them with the spatula.

               _“In the court’s mind, God himself has spoken, forbidding the evil witch from entering his house. The witches were subsequently convicted of heresy and burned alive at the stake.”_

                Stiles walked in and John quickly turned off the TV before his son could notice. Not that Stiles would, anyway. His hair was ruffled, his clothes baggy, and his eyes half-closed as he practically slept-walked to a seat at the kitchen table. He immediately put his head down. John smiled as he put the pancakes on his son’s plate and brought them over to him. Stiles lifted his head slowly.

               “Can I have the-”

               “Syrup.” John said placing it next to the pancakes. “And peanut butter.”

                “Thanks dad.”

                As Stiles was busy lathering his pancakes, small footstep could be heard padding around upstairs. Then came the rusty moan of water rushing through the pipes and into the shower. Stiles’ eyes went wide. He looked over at his father, panic stricken.

               “I-I can explain.”

               John leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. He did not look happy. “I would hope so. Who is she?”

               “Malia.” Stiles puts down his fork and turns in his chair to face his dad. “Alright, so it’s like two in the morning. I wake up and she’s lying there right next to me. She just sneaks in. Does this like five times a week.”

               “And then what happens?”

               “Nothing bad, just-”

               Stiles lifted the back of his shirt. John immediately pushed himself off the counter and got closer. There were vertical scratches in various stages of healing littering the left side of his back. John lightly touched the most recent one and Stiles winced.

               “Does she do this on purpose?” John walked over to the medicine cabinet. He picked out the Neosporin and cotton pads. He took a seat next to Stiles and began to treat his back. “Some sort of werecoyote thing? Marking her territory?”

               “No. She does it in her sleep.” Stiles looked away from his dad to resume eating his pancakes. “She likes to spoon.”

                John tried to hide his smile, but failed. “Looks to me like you’re the little spoon.”

                “Always.” Stiles commented around a mouthful of food.

               “So.” When John was finished, he put Stiles’ shirt back down, threw away the pads, and put the Neosporin back in the cupboard. “Does this mean you two are…together?”

               “I-I honestly have no idea. She might, but I don’t. Maybe it’s not even romantic, you know? Maybe it’s a pack thing? Maybe that’s how she shows her friendship?”

               “Uh huh,” John went back to his work station and poured more pancake mix onto the pan. “And does Malia sneak into Scott’s room at two in the morning? What about Lydia? Or Kira?”

               “I get your point.” Stiles sighed.

               “You should talk to her and make things clear before one of you commits to something that’s not actually going on.” John flipped over the pancakes. A thought occurred to him. “You said she does this at least five times a week…why haven’t I heard her before now?”

                “Because you’re always at the station by the time she wakes up and showers.”

               “How long has she been doing this?”

                “A couple weeks now. Almost two months.”

               John nodded. He continued flipping the pancakes until they were golden and Stiles continued to stuff his face while he sped-read last night’s homework reading. Malia came into the kitchen a couple minutes later. Her hair was coming down in wet snarls, dampening Stiles’ t-shirt that she had thrown on. Besides the shirt, she was also wearing a pair of Stiles’ boxer-shorts as pants. She didn’t expect to see John in the kitchen making pancakes and froze in the door way. She looked towards Stiles for some inclination about what to do.

                “It’s alight.” Stiles swallowed his pancakes and took a sip of orange juice. “He knows.”

               John put the golden pancakes on a plate and set them on the table with a glass of orange juice. He looked up at Malia and smiled. “You hungry?”

               “Dad makes the best pancakes.” Stiles said. He waved Malia over with one hand as he pushed the syrup and peanut butter to her plate with the other. “You’ve got to try them with peanut butter and syrup. It’ll blow your mind.”

               Malia slowly walked over to her seat at the table. She kept throwing glances over her shoulder at John while he cleaned up the kitchen. She leaned in to Stiles and whispered. “He’s not angry that I’m here?”

                Stiles shook his head. “He’d never make you pancakes if he was angry.”

               “Malia,” John said, taking off his apron and folding it. “Can you tell me why you’ve been sneaking in for the past two months?”

               Malia talked around her mouthful of pancakes. Stiles was right, John knew how to make pancakes. “Dad kicked me out.”

                Stiles put down his fork. “Peter kicked you out?”

               She shook her head. “Scott Tate. Somehow he found out that he wasn’t my dad, and that Peter Hale was. He got drunk and when he gets drunk and angry, he gets violent.”

               “You didn’t…You didn’t hurt him, did you?” The last thing John wanted to do was find Scott Tate’s body torn to shreds and sweep it under the rug as an animal attack.

               “He’s lucky I didn’t. I ran out of there and went back to my cave.”

                “The one you lived in as a coyote?” John asked. Malia nodded. “And you’d sneak in here to sleep, shower, and eat before heading to school?” Again, Malia nodded.

               “Why not try living with Peter?” Stiles asked.

               She looked at him with eyes Stiles could only describe as vulnerable. “Because I don’t trust him.”

               After a heartbeat, Stiles turned to his dad. “What are you going to do?”

               “I can’t force Mr. Tate to take Malia back in since she isn’t his biological daughter.” John sighed. “But what I can do I offer to put Malia up here.” Malia whipped her head around to gauge if John’s offer was serious. “That is if you want to stay here.”

               “Are you kidding me?” A vibrant smile broke out across Malia’s face. “That would be fantastic! Thank you.”

               “Two conditions,” John held up two fingers. “One – you and Stiles sleep in completely separate bedrooms. Neither of you will sneak into the other’s room. Got that?” Malia nodded. “Second – Talk to your dad. Get to know him.”

               “Dad, he’s Satan in a V-neck!” Stiles complained. “Do you really think he’s worth trusting? Safe to move in with?”

               “Stiles, he’s her father whether she likes it or not.” John turned to Malia. “So you at least have to try and work it out.”

                “Understood.” Malia nodded.

               “Now,” John looked down at his watch. “I’m late for work and you’ll both be late for school if you don’t hurry.” He strapped on his gun holster and shrugged into his Sheriff’s jacket. “Malia, do me a favor, when you meet up with the rest of the girls, tell them to be extra careful in who they talk to and where they go. Alright?”

               “What’s going on?” Malia asked, looking up from literally licking her plate clean.

               “Three women this week have been abducted near town. Latest one was a girl around your age.”

                Stiles looked puzzled. “It’s only Wednesday.”

                “Exactly.” John fished his keys out of an empty coffee cup. “If you want, look into it, but be careful. You guys can go and do things me and my boys can’t. If you don’t find anything, that’s fine. But if you do, supernatural or otherwise-”

                “Report back to you. Got it.” John was nearly out the back door when Stiles called after him. “Not going to have any pancakes?”

                “Got coffee and bagels waiting for me at the station.”

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

**SHERIFF’S OFFICE**

John sat behind his desk holding a photo of Brittany Lease. He immediately recognized her as his server from last night by the distinct hand tattoo she was showing off in the photo. Deputy Parrish sat on the edge of John’s desk holding a copy of the photo.

               “She didn’t come home at all last night.” Brittany’s husband, Max, told them. He sat uneasily in his chair in front of John. “That’s not like Brittany, believe me.”

                “What time did she leave to go to work?” Parrish asked.

               “Six. Six-thirty. She called around ten, said she was heading home.” Max ran his hand through his hair. “I-I’m really worried.”

               “Chances are she’ll show up. They usually do.” John stood up and handed Max his photo back. “In the meantime, the best thing for you to do is to go home in case she calls. Can you do that?”

                “Yeah.” Max held out his hand and John shook it. “I can do that. Thanks.”

                Parrish walked Max out the door and asked another Deputy to see him out. HE came back into John’s office and handed him the picture of Brittany. “That’s the fourth one this week sheriff.”

                “Well they can’t be disappearing into thin air.” John sighed. “Send out two deputies to Olive Garden. Talk to people see if they can get their hands on any security footage. In the meantime,” John dropped the other missing women’s cases on his desk, “we’ll be looking for connections.”

                “Knock, knock,” Melissa said as she knocked on the door frame. She held up a Bagel Bro’s bag and a cardboard carrier with two cups of coffee in it.

                Parrish smiled at the Sherriff, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Melissa. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get those deputies on it.” As he walked out the door, he nodded to Melissa. “Mrs. McCall.”

                “Deputy Parrish.” She smiled back. He closed the door behind him. She glanced behind her at Parrish as she walked over to John’s desk. “Why’s he smiling?”

               “Beats me.” John cleared a spot on his desk for Melissa to set everything down and sort it. Once they both had their coffee and bagels, John began to talk as he bit into his. “Had dinner with Stiles last night.”

                “That’s great! How’d it go?”

               “Surprisingly well. We talked about him being a witch, even agreed that he could practice his craft in the attic so long as he cleaned it out and didn’t blow the house down.”

               “Reasonable.” Melissa smiled. She took a bite of her bagel and covered her mouth as she talked. “So you’ve made admen’s with your son. What about your wife?”

                John stopped chewing for a moment. He put down his bagel and leaned back against his chair. “Death kind of ends your marriage. She still has my name, but she’s not my wife. At least, not to the courts. To them, we divorced the moment she was put into the ground.”

                “What about this Witness Protection Program story she’s putting out? Doesn’t that change something’s?”

                John shook his head. “I looked into it already. Even with her story, the legal system wasn’t notified, so when she was “buried” so was our marriage.”

                “I’m sorry, John.” Melissa reached across the desk to squeeze his hands. His thumb instinctively rubbed her hand.

               “I’ve had eight years to adjust and move on without Claudia. Without a wife. Now here she is back from the dead and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

                “What are you feeling now?”

                “Anger. Guilt. Sadness. Confusion….” He looked down at their hands and said in a lower tone. “Comfort.”

               Melissa smiled and slowly retracted her hand. She hadn’t realized she had held on this long. “She said she wants to meet with you and Stiles, right? Are you ready for that, the see her again?”

               “I don’t know, Mell. I told Stiles that we would see her, together, when he wanted to. I don’t want to push _this_ on him.”

               “But what do _you_ want, John?”

               “I want my wife to stay dead….” He lowered his voice. When he looked up at Melissa, she could see the guilt in his eyes. “I know it’s bad of me to say. I love her, she was my wife and the mother of my child, but-”

                “But you don’t want her back.” Melissa finished for him. “Like you said, she _was_ your wife. Your wife died eight years ago. The Claudia that came back will always be Stiles’ mom…but she doesn’t have to be your wife.”

                John chuckled darkly. “Are you trying to convince me not to take my zombie wife back?”

                Melissa brought her coffee cup up to her lips. “I’m just saying what you’re already thinking, Sheriff.”

**BAGEL BRO’S**

                It was after school and the Lydia Martin was craving a snack before starting in on her homework. Kira and Malia were saving their table while Lydia ordered the food. The girls were here to do school work and study while the boys were off working. Isaac and Scott went to the Olive Garden the last victim worked at, looking for clues, after Stiles got a text from his dad. And now that Stiles was given permission to practice from home, he was at Derek’s packing his supplies into boxes. After that, he and Derek will clean out the Stilinski’s attic before unpacking the boxes and setting up the ‘alter room’, as the Book of Shadows calls it.

               She was about to pick up her order when the man in front of her turned around. She was star-struck the moment she recognized who it was.

               “E-Excuse me.” Lydia said, politely stepping in his path. “But aren’t you Gordan Pratt?”

               “Yes,” He smiled and held out his hand. “And you are…?”

                “Lydia Martin.” She smiled brightly and shook his hand. It was warm and firm and, most of all, manly. “I am unbelievably familiar with your work. Like everyone else in the world.”

                “I don’t know about that,” he not so subtly gave her a once-over, “but I’ll always take a compliant from a gorgeous woman.”

                Lydia didn’t notice the woman standing next to him until she gave a frustrated huff. She snatched the bagel bag out of Gordon’s hand and walked out the front door. Gordon didn’t seem to mind as he watched, puzzled.

               “Number forty-two! Lydia!” The bag man at the font counter called out her order.

                “Well, uh, it was nice meeting you.” Lydia said, trying to step around him without accidentally bumping him.

                “Listen,” Gordon reached out his hand and lightly touched her arm. Lydia could feel the butterfly in her stomach. “I’ll be in the city a couple days doing a shoot for Porsche. If you’re interested,” He reached into his pocket to pull out his card. With a pen, he scribbled an address on the back. “Stop by. I would love to photograph you.” Seeing her hesitation in grabbing the card, he asked, “You do model, don’t you?”

                “In my dreams,” She muttered before putting on a vibrant, flirting smile. “But I’ll be sure to stop by.”

                She coyly walked past him and picked up her order. When she walked over to her table, Kira was smiling widely while Malia had two different highlighters hanging out of her mouth.

                “Who was that?!” Kira practically squealed.

                Malia quickly dug through the bag for her order and ripped the paper off of it. She stuffed half of it in her mouth. She looked up to see both Kira and Lydia starring at her.

               “Don’t forget to chew, sweetie.” Lydia reminded her, patting her knee. She turned back to Kira. “His name is Gordon Pratt and he’s a photographer.”

               “And…?” Kira prompted her.

                “And he’d like to photograph me of a Porsche shoot.” Lydia smugly handed over Gordon’s card to Kira.

                “First the auction house and now this?” Kira sat amazed, starring down at the card.

                “Auction house?” Malia asked. It hasn’t been more than two minutes since Lydia gave her the bagel and Malia was already wearing the crumbs.

               “My mom got me an internship at the new auction house outside of town – Heartland & Associates.” Lydia pulled out her auction house I.D pass and showed it to them. “I start next week.”

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

It was late when John came in. He, Parrish, and a couple other deputies patrolled the abduction areas in unmarked cars looking for anything out of the ordinary. He had gotten a call from Scott saying that he and Isaac didn’t find a thing that could help the case. Britany’s scent was muddled over by all the foot-traffic in/out and around the restaurant.

               He hung up his jacket on the coat rack along with his gun holster. He tiredly walked into the kitchen, hoping to eat some cold leftover pizza, but found a plate of Mac n’ Cheese sitting on the back warmer of the stove.

               “I saved you some.” Stiles spoke up from the chair he was sitting in. He didn’t look up from what he was reading out of the Book of Shadows. “Didn’t know when you’d be back, so I just left it on the warming pad.”

                “Thanks,” John said. He took his plate over to the table and sat down. “Whatcha reading?”

                “Nothing. Just thinking.”

                John spooned cheesy noodles into his mouth. “What’re you thinking about?”

               “How screwed up our lives are.” Stiles closed the book and slid it away from him on the table. “I’m like the consigliere in the Godfather, except it’s to a pack of wolves. I’m a witch who doesn’t know the first thing about being a witch or how to even control my powers. My mom rose from the dead, doesn’t know how or why, and wants to talk. And on top of all that, I don’t even know-”

               Stiles stopped himself suddenly. He was about to say ‘ _I don’t even know who my real father is’_. That would not have been good. John had just started talking to him again, and a blow-out like that would send John back into the bottle. For good, maybe. Instead, Stiles said,

                “And I don’t even know if I’m good. How do I know it’s not from evil?”

                “Stiles-”

                “What about that warlock that attacked us? How do I know I’m not just like them?” Stiles fiddled with the edge of the table. “Last night I asked you what scared you, and this is what scares me. I don’t know. I-I just…I just want to be normal again.”

                John reached out and grabbed Stiles shoulders, pulling him into his chest for a hug. He held him and said, “When were you ever normal, Stiles?” Hearing a small chuckle, John went on. “Hey, listen to me. You are hyperactive and spastic and sarcastic and god knows what else, but you were always caring. Always looking out for those who needed help the most. You’re always there to help anybody, even Derek when everyone hated him, including you. You’ve been helping strangers your whole life.” He pulled away from the hug and looked his son in the face. “So don’t you tell me you’ve been given this gift if it wasn’t to do good things with it. To ‘protect the innocent’, just like your….book of sunshine says.”

                “Shadows, Dad.” Stiles smiled. “Book of _Shadows_.”

               “Now that sounds evil.” John went back to eating his mac n’ cheese. “Book of Sunshine sounds happier.”

                “Speaking of ‘sunshine’ have you seen Malia when she studies? It’s like an explosion of yellow highlighter.”

               “How’s Malia settling in?” Stiles had called John earlier this evening to let him know Malia was at the house. He told Stiles to set her up in the guest bedroom down the hall from him.

               “She likes the bed.” Stiles nodded. “We, uh, had to kind of brake into Scott Tate’s house while he was at work to get her stuff. Not much, just a few personal things along with her clothes and school stuff.”

                John gave Stiles a stony look. “Did you brake anything besides the law?”

               “Malia had a spare key, so I guess it wasn’t totally breaking in.” When John’s look subsided, he continued. “Anyway, I was going to take her out shopping tomorrow after school. Make the guest room kind of her own, you know.”

                “And you know she still has to at least attempt to get to know Peter.” John reminded him. “We can’t keep her indefinably, Stiles.”

                “Not indefinitely.” Stiles got up and began walking out of the kitchen and towards the stairs, throwing back over his shoulder, “Just until graduation.”

**BEACON HILLS SHOPPING CENTER**

               Apparently, the things that made Malia feel more at home were weapons and fluffy things. The bags were filled with an assortment of knives mixed in with fluffy pillow sheets, fluffy blankets, and a fluffy stuffed wolf. Malia had Stiles carry the bags, naturally.

               “I still think you’re going to suffocate underneath all this.” Stiles complained. He had to painfully crane his neck around the bags, he could barely see where he was going.

               The only bag Malia carried was the one with her new clothes in it. Having pick-pocketed Stiles of his keys, she unlocked the jeep and put her bag in. Stiles was beginning to wander past the jeep so Malia took a bag off his hands.

               “What can I say? Fluffy stuff makes me feel comfortable.”

                Stiles loaded up the last bag and shut the rear hatch. When he turned around, an old woman was uncomfortable close behind him. Malia shifted her stance to attack, but Stiles waved her off. He recognized something about this old woman. He squinted, taking a step closer. He took her hand and looked down – there was an angel tattooed on her hand.

               “Brittany?” HE asked, vaguely shocked.

               “Y-You know me?” The old woman asked feebly. “Is that my name?”

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

              John rushed home as soon as Stiles called him. He said, quite unbelievably, that he had found Brittany Lease and brought her to their home. John tried convincing him to take her to the station or even the hospital. Stiles said it was more complicated than that. And by ‘ _complicated’_ he meant supernatural no doubt.

               John cut the engine as he threw the car into park. He was out of the car and in the house in two seconds.

                “Stiles?” John called out.

               And elderly woman walked out of the living room and into the foyer where John was standing. Her hair was grey, her skin nearly translucent. John could see she didn’t have much longer to go before she kicked the bucket. She was a walking corpse in an oatmeal sweater.

               “Dad!” Stiles came out of the kitchen carrying a green bowl full of soup. He handed the bowl to the elderly woman. “Here you go, Brittany. Malia can show you where to sit. She’ll keep you company while I talk to the Sheriff.”

                Malia came out of the living room and gently put her hand on the elderly woman’s elbow. The woman glanced at Stiles uncertainly before walking off to the kitchen.

               “Brittany?” John asked. He pulled the photo Max gave him out of his jacket pocket and held it up for Stiles to see. “You’re telling me that _she_ is Brittany Lease?”

               “I know it doesn’t seem like it but that’s her. That old woman is Brittany.” Stiles pointed at the photo John was holding. “She has an angel tattoo on her right hand.” Stiles pointed at the old woman eating soup in their kitchen. “She has the exact same angel tattoo on her right hand.”

               “I want you to be honest with me. Completely and totally honest with me.” John took a deep breath. He walked into the living room and sat down heavily on the arm rest of their couch. “Is time travelling possible? Because if it’s real, I’m done. That’s it. You’re going to be driving me to Eichen House!”

               “Dad, we found her like that.”

               “What?” He stood up aggressively. “Swimming in the anti-Fountain of Youth?!”

               “If Javna’s got a swimming pool.” Stiles could see that he had completely lost his father by now. He grabbed his dad’s hand. “Follow me.”

               Up two flights of stairs, Stiles led John into the attic. The only time it’s been used was when they first moved in as an overflow are for their junk boxes. It has been over sixteen years since John’s been up here and in two days Stiles had transformed it from a cluttered attic to a neat and organized work space. It was humid and stuffy, but that could be fixed once John installed a ceiling fan.

               “I’m planning on adding some furniture, maybe a couch or two. Make it more ‘livable’.” Stiles commented as he walked to the stand in the center of the room. The Book of Shadows was proudly displayed on top. “Also thinking about adding a mini-fridge. Keep my perishable ingredients away from the food downstairs.”

               As Stiles flipped through the book, John looked around. There were open cabinets all around the room displaying their contents – assorted candles, ingredients in jars, oddly shaped bottles with brightly colored liquids inside, gadgets, lethal weapons in various shapes and sizes, and book. Plenty of books on a multitude of supernatural and mythological subjects.

               “Here.” Stiles tapped his finger on the page. John stood behind Stiles and silently read as Stiles gave the cliff notes. “Javna feeds one week out of every year stealing the ‘life-force’ from the young. By invoking the black magic, he gains eternal youth.” He looks up at his dad. “This has got to be what happened to Brittany and all those other woman.”

               “If this is what happened, and I’m not saying it is, but is there some way to reverse the effects?”

               “The Mirror of Fatima.” Stiles flipped a couple pages. “The prophet Muhammad used it a couple centuries ago to banish Javana to wherever the hell he came from.”

               “Does this book tell you who or where he is?” John asked skeptically.

               Stiles was saved from answering by his phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was Lydia calling. Just when you needed to find a killer, who calls you but a Banshee? He pressed speaker.

                “ _Stiles. I felt something. Something bad.”_ Lydia whispered into her phone, terrified. “ _I-I came here to get my picture taken by Gordon at the warehouse and when I got here I felt it. Stiles, someone is about to die here.”_

                “Make sure it’s not you. Lydia, get back in your car and get the hell out of there. Okay?”

                _“Okay. Stay on the line.”_

               From the boy’s end, they could hear Lydia’s high heels clacking against the pavement. She opened her car door, got inside, and shut it. They heard the beep of her locking the doors. A low moan could be heard coming from the background. Sounds of a struggle came through and Lydia’s muffled screaming.

                “Lydia?” Stiles shouted down at his phone. “Lydia!”

               The call cut off. The dead dial tone floated thick through the air. Stiles immediately pushed past his dad and bolted down the stairs. When he came into the kitchen, Malia saw the worried expression on his face. She stood up.

               “What’s going on?”

               “Lydia’s been taken.” He began to dial Scott’s number, but John hand came out and took his phone away. “Dad, we need the pack to find out where she is!”

               John ignored the comment and turned to Malia. “Before the call was cut off, Lydia said she was about to get her photo taken by a man named Gordon. Did she say anything to you about it?”

               “Yeah, we met him at the coffee shop after school yesterday.” Malia’s eyes dart around the ground as she recalls the event. “She was waiting in line for our order when she recognized him. They talked and he handed her a card before leaving.”

               “DO you remember what it said?” Stiles asked.

                Malia did him one better. She grabbed a napkin from the nakin holder on the table and began to write down the information from the card. She handed it to John.

                “Gordon Pratt. 78 Waterfront Blvd.”

               When Brittany heard this, her eyes rolled back and she slumped in her chair. John pulled her upright in the chair, gently shaking her shoulders. Without looking behind him, he handed Stiles his phone back.

                “Call Melissa.”

               As Stiles calls Melissa and tells her about the old woman possiably dying in his kitchen, John managed to rouse her awake. Her eyes fluttered slowly before staying open.

               “Brittany,” John said softly, taking her hand. “Do you recognize that address? Do you know Gordon Pratt?”

               “Javna….” She muttered. Her eyes went wide in horror before fainting again.

               Stiles hung up with Melissa. “She’s in her way.”

                “Good,” John pulled away, and moved Stiles to take his place holding Brittany’s hand. John pulled out his own phone and dialed the station. “Parrish, its John. Look, Lydia Martin has been taken by the stalker. His name is Gordon Pratt.”

               “Yes, sir. ATM footage came through with Mr. Pratt leaving the abduction site with the first victim.”

               “Send back-up to 78 Waterfront Blvd. I’m already en-route.” John hung up. He turned to Malia. “Stay here with Brittany and Melissa until we call.”

               “I can help!” Malia argued.

               “You are. By staying her and waiting for our call.” John patted Stiles on his shoulder and they were off. Dejected, Malia knelt back down to the floor and held on to Brittany’s hand.

**78 WATERFRONT BLVD.**

Lydia’s Toyota Prius sat in front of the warehouse, front door open and lights still on. John parked his squad car behind her. Derek’s Camero pulls in right next to them. John shot Stiles and unhappy look as he got out of the car.

               “We need the help.” Stiles said, waving his phone.

               “How do you want to play this?” Derek asked, walking over.

               Lydia’s scream came from inside. John quickly un-holstered his gun and lead the way in. It took seconds for Derek to transform his hands and face into his lethal werewolf form. John stood off to the side of the main door, Stiles right behind him, and motioned Derek to the door. With one strong kick, the door opened for Derek.

               In the center of the warehouse, Lydia was tied down to an illuminated table with black candles burning in a circle around it. Slowing approaching the table was an elderly man in a leather jacket. His hair was white whispers, scarcely covering his grey speckled head. His skin was grey and sagging from his bones. When he turned to the three men at the door, his dead eyes glowed red.

               “Javna…” Stiles breathed. It was as if the painting in the Book of Shadows had come to life.

                John didn’t take any chances. He shot twice, both bullets hitting Javna square in the chest. The impact caused Javna to stumble back far enough so Stiles could dash over to Lydia. The bullets only slowed Javna down only for a moment unfortunately.

               He turned his gaze upon John. Red laser-light light shot from Javna’s eyes and impacted John’s. John stood perfectly still, like he was in a trance or something. He dropped his gun. With every step Javna took closer, the older John became. His hair began to grey, his skin began to sink, and his clothes appeared to no longer fit him.

                Derek leapt out, tackling Javna to the ground. The trance broke over John and he fell to the ground. Javna not only drained whatever youth he could from John, but also his strength. As Derek fought off Javna, being careful not to let his eyes make a connection, Stiles hurried to untie Lydia. He got one hand free before Lydia shoved him off.

                “The mirror!” She shouted, pointed to the ornate mirror on the edge of the table. “Use the mirror!”

               Stiles backs off of Lydia to get the mirror. It was the Mirror of Fatima, the one object that could destroy Javna.

                “Derek!” Stiles called out.

               Derek forcefully kicked Javna in the chest to distract him. He held out his hand and caught the mirror when Stiles threw it. He strategically places it between his face and Javna’s just as Javna shoots the red-lasers out of his eyes. They bounce off the mirror and impact Javna.

                That alone won’t finish Javna off, but it momentarily stunned him. He held his head in his hands, wailing at the pain. Derek rushes over to John and picks him up, dragging him over to the group. Just as Lydia unties herself and gets off the table, Derek places John on it.

               “Please tell me you know how to kill him.” Lydia said. She leaned over John to take his pulse. It was weak and deteriorating. He wouldn’t last much longer.

               “Oh yeah.” Stiles unfolds a piece of paper and takes the mirror from Derek. He holds it out in front of him and reads aloud -

_Evil eyes look unto thee,_

_May they soon extinguish be,_

_Bend thy will to my power,_

_Eye of Earth, evil and accursed._  

               Javna attempted to stop him by shooting his laser-eyes at them, but it only reflected back. Stiles repeated the incantation over again, this time with more feeling. He let his anger brew and his power manifest within him. It made his spell stronger.

               Like the warlock before, white light appeared inside Javna, filling him. His head flung back as it shot through his open mouth and his eyes. Horribly painful screams that filled the air where cut short once the light disappeared. Javna fell to the ground, his appearance back to human form.

               It was silent in the warehouse except for the distance sound of sirens. John began to stir behind him. Like Javna’s human form, Gordon Pratt, he was back to normal. Derek helped him sit up.

               “I miss all the action?” John asked groggily.

               “You could say that…” Lydia sighed. She let out a laugh and smiled. She threw her arms around Stiles neck as she laughed. Stiles hugged her back. “Thank you.”

               “Anytime.” He said. He pulled back and smiled at her. “Keep hanging around me and we’ll all probably die from me being sarcastic at the wrong time.”

               Lydia pulled back and not too gently punched him in the chest. Derek laughed and started walking out of the warehouse with the Mirror of Fatima in hand. Lydia jogged up to him. John swung his legs off the side of the table and hopped down. Stiles didn’t expect it, but John put his hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled.

               “Proud of you.”

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

**SHERIFF’S OFFICE**

               After exiting the warehouse, they were swarmed by the back-up John had called for. Normally, this type of lateness in responding to a situation would piss John off, but this time he was grateful. After Lydia gave her portion of the story – she came to get her picture taken by Gordon Pratt, but she got a bad feeling when she saw the inside of the warehouse and called Stiles; the call went dead, but not before she could tell them who she was with.

                That’s where John’s “official” statement came in. He called Parrish and came straight to the warehouse. Stiles and Derek followed because they wanted to make sure Lydia was okay. John went in and saw Lydia tied to a table, unconscious, with Gordon Pratt standing over her with a knife. John had no choice but to shoot him.

               The official cause of death will be two gunshots to the chest. Gordon Pratt will be accused of kidnapping and attempted murder.

               John got in his cruiser and headed back to the station. Stiles and Lydia got into Derek’s car and headed out with him. When he got to the station, he was pleasantly surprised to see Brittany Lease, young and beautiful again, reunited with her husband. John overheard her statement as he walked by -

                “The last thing I remember was leaving work. A man came up to me and said his car had died and wanted to know if he could jump start it with mine. I said yes. Then….nothing. That was two days ago?”

               John could see through the widow of his office what Melissa was waiting for him. She saw him and held up a cup of coffee. He smiled. She handed him the cup as he walked through his office door.

               “One moment she’s an old woman and the next…” Melissa sighed. She sat down on his couch. John took a seat next to her and sipped his coffee.

               “I know how that feels.”

               “So,” Melissa curled her feet under her on the couch, angled her body towards him, and cupped her coffee in both hands. “What happed?”

                “Gordon Pratt, the fashion photographer, was a supernatural creature by the name of Javna. He drains women of their youth and beauty. They turn into old women and die a couple days later. He’s been doing it for centuries apparently.”

               “Well thank God you stopped him.”

                John shook his head. “I only slowed him down. Stiles was the one who finished him. He and is two other partners in crime.”

                “Wouldn’t it be ‘partners in witchcraft’ now?” Melissa mused. John chuckled. “Anyway,” She reached over and patted John’s hand, “congrats on the new house guest. Malia told me you were letting her stay there.”

               “It’s only temporary. Once she gets to know her father, she promised she’d move in with him.”

               “We are talking about Peter Hale, right?”

               “Even if he is…like he usually is, he is still her father. Legally speaking, I’m not even allowed to have her stay with me.”

               “You could always adopt her.” Melissa smiled as John snorted. “But that would make you a copy-cat. Adopting stray weres from shitty parents is my thing.”

               “I’m fine with a hyperactive witch, thank you.” John chuckled.

               Melissa raised he coffee cup in a toast. “To be pack parents whether we like it or not.”

               John touched his cup to hers. “To pack parents.”

END


	8. Chapter 7

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

**11:30 P.M.**

               John Stilinski was too tense to sleep. He’s been spending the last couples hours lying awake in bed, starring at the ceiling, thinking about the stacks of case files sitting in his filling cabinet he’s earmarked as ‘possibly supernatural’. Doctor Alan Deaton has been saying that the nemeton’s awakening has become a supernatural beacon – just as it once was when the town was founded, hence the town’s name ‘Beacon Hills’.

               To take his mind off matters, he grappled for the TV remote on his nightstand and turned on the TV. He flicked through channels for the better part of a half hour before settling on FX. Kill Bill vol. 1 was winding down, but he could at least catch a few action scenes before the credits.

                The credits rolled and the movie ended. John was dozing by the time the next movie come on – Dracula 2000. When he realized what he was watching, a thought occurred to him. He rolled on his side to reach across the nightstand again for his cell phone and hit three on his speed dial.

               _“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”_ The voice on the other end of the line said coyly.

               “Shouldn’t you be working?” John replied with a smile.

               _“Touché; but if the Sheriff calls you, you should answer.”_ John could hear the hospital’s intercom in the background. _“Besides, I’m on a sandwich break.”_

               “Ham and mayo?”

               _“Oh, you know me too well.”_

               “It’s only been eighteen years.” On the TV, an actor was screaming. John quickly hit the mute button.

               _“What was that?”_

              “Some movie that came on,” John hit the info button on his remote to get the details. “’Dracula 2000’ with Gerard Butler.”

               Melissa made a disgruntled noise. “ _That wasn’t one of his best.”_

               “I have a serious question. And I don’t want you to think any less of me for saying this but…” John too a deep breath. “Do you think Dracula is real?”

               It was quiet for a moment on Melissa’s side of the line before she burst out laughing. “ _Are you serious, John?”_

               “Yes, I’m serious. I mean, your sons are werewolves, my son is a witch…..we’ve had lizard people, and dark Japanese spirts, and ninjas roaming around killing people. How can you not think Dracula might be real?”

               “ _I don’t know about Dracula….vampires, maybe, but not Dracula.”_

               At the hospital, Melissa was comfortably reclined in a chair at the nurses’ station, eating her sandwich and talking to John. It was unusually quiet for the emergency room. She put down her sandwich and stood up. She could feel something was about to happen.

               Out of nowhere, a shirtless and barefoot young man with blood staining his hands up to his elbows walked through the emergency room doors. He smeared blood on the glass as he entered. He collapsed on the floor after two steps.

               _“John. I’m going to have to call you back.”_

**BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL**

**7 am MORNING LACROSSE PRACTICE**

                “Of course you’re still the team captain,” Stiles was telling Scott encouragingly as they walked onto the lacrosse field for morning practice before school. “You got your grades up just like coach told you too, right?”

               “Yeah, but he never told me I was back on the team. He just told me to show up for tryouts today.”

               “We have bigger things to deal with anyway,” Stiles waved off Scott’s concerns.

                “Like what?” Isaac asked, joining them beside the bleachers. He dropped his bags and gripped his stick. “You’re the one with control issues.”

               “Over my _magical powers_.” Stiles stressed. “It’s not like there’s a handbook.”

               “No, but there’s your mom. She had the same powers before she died, right?” Scott asked. “Why don’t you talk to her about it?”

               “No. No way.” Stiles shook his head and dug his cleats into the ground. “My dad and I just started talking again. This whole ‘your son’s a witch and your wife’s not dead’ roller-coaster has been hard on him. And on top of all that, he’s got to pay for an MRI and a trip to Eichen House.”

               “Another notice?” Isaac asked.

                “Yeah, this one said ‘final’.”

               “Not to add to your problems or anything, but our status on the lacrosse team just became one of them.” Scott hesitantly said. He pointed over Stiles’ and Isaac’s shoulder to the field.

               On the field, were two players, shoulder width apart, scooping up and throwing balls at the single man in the goal. One right after the other, the shooters were relentless. What was amazing about this was the player in the goal. He moved fluidly like it was a well-choreographed dance. He never failed to catch a ball; nothing got past him.

               “Who the hell is that?” Stiles asked incredulously.

               Like a slow-motion scene out of Baywatch, the player removed his helmet and smiled. He was a freshman of all things.

               “Maybe we should practice…” Isaac trailed off as he headed to the field.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

               Once the body bags had been placed on the cool steel tables, John ushered out the M.E assistant before he to prep the bodies for autopsy. He had given Melissa a ‘heads-up’ text while on his way over to the hospital.

                Melissa walked in a couple minutes later wearing purple scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck. Her wiry black hair was pulled out of her face in a ponytail, accenting her sharp features and the dark circle forming under her eyes.

               “Hey Mell. Sorry to call you in on this, but I need another set of eyes that know what to look for.”

               “And what is it that we should be looking for?” She asked as she unzipped the first black body bag. What was left of Mrs. Walcott’s nightgown seemed to cover her parts modestly. The only section of her exposed was her midsection. And by exposed – her skin ripped open and her organs in plain view.

               Melissa took a deep breath as she let go of the bag. “Now I know why he hasn’t said a word to the physiologist.”

               “He’s going to be in shock for a while, isn’t he?”

               Melissa looked over at him and nodded. She shifted her gaze back to the two other black bags on the tables. “This was his whole family?”

               “Mother, Shannon Walcott. Father, Brendan Walcott. Older brother, Jason Walcott.” John placed his hands on the steel table to lean against. “Sean was the youngest and only one to get away. Question is, from who?”

               “From what.” Melissa pulled the bag away from Shannon Walcott’s body and adjusted the overhead light. She pointed out the victim’s midsection. “See how the skin is jagged where it was cut? And the deep slashes on her arms and neck?”

                “Claw marks.” John said. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Damn.”

                “That’s not all….” Melissa’s voice dropped almost into a whisper as she leaned in closer to Shannon Walcott’s body. She maneuvered the light closer and peered through the magnifying glass attached.

               “What is it?”

               Melissa leaned away and gestured to the body. “See for yourself.”

                John leaned down to look through the magnifying glass. He could see Shannon Walcott’s organs, or what was left of them. He was about to give up and have Melissa just explain it to him, but then he noticed it. He pulled away and looked down curiously at the body.

                “Bite marks?”

               “I think so, but instead of teeth or four canine marks like werewolves, each individual mark is serrated and fixedly pointed.” Melissa pulled the light away. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d saw it was a small shark bite.”

               John took a step away from the table and crossed his arms. “Just this once, I was hoping to not have to-”

               “-involve the boys?” Melissa finished his sentence.

               “Yeah.” He gestured to the bodies on the tables. “And here I was hoping this was everyday murder. Give the boys a day off from the world of murder and massacres.”

               “When do we get a day off?” Melissa asked, tilting her head slightly and smiling.

**BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL**

**MATH CLASS**

               “You said I only had to try it. That if I didn’t like it I didn’t have to do it.”

                “Yeah, well, I lied.”

                Stiles was forcibly pushing Malia into their math class as she struggled against him. Being new at nearly everything school related, she was picking up certain subjects better than others…..like lunch and free time. The classes she struggled most with were math and history.

               “I hate math. It’s pointless.”

                “It’s school.” Stiles guided her to their seats beside Lydia. “School is important and math is essential.”

               “To what?” Malia asked quietly, nervously starring at the complicated problem on the chalk board.

               “Helps you tip at restaurants.” Stiles winked.

               That comment gave Lydia pause. She turned around, full sassy-bitch-face mode. “And less important things like medicine, economics, engineering…”

               “Tipping,” Stiles stressed, patting Malia’s shoulder encouragingly.

               “All right. Volunteers to the board.” The teacher turned around and began pointing out students. “Lydia. Diego. Malia.”

               “Um…I didn’t volunteer.” Malia said, sinking down in her seat.

                “You did now.”

                As the other two got up, Malia turned around to growl under her breath at Stiles. He would have been slightly worried if it wasn’t for the text message that vibrated in his pocket. He glanced around the room, noticing the teacher was busy helping a student across the classroom, before pulling out his phone. The message was from his dad –

                _Supernatural attack last night. Killed a family, leaving one alive. Claw marks on bodies, shark-like teeth marks on organs. Ask around the pack for any creature that eats human organs, will you?_

                Stiles was about to text back when a second message came in.

                _P.S. DON’T GET INVOLVED_

                Stiles was jittery the rest of the period. He tried texting Malia or Lydia about it, even tried passing a note, but the teacher seemed to hover around their section of the class for the next thirty minutes of class.

                When the bell rang, Malia and Lydia went the opposite way to class while Stiles raced down the hall to find Scott by his locker talking to his girlfriend, Kira.

                “And before you say anything,” Scott started off when he spotted Stiles jogging down the hall, “I already know.”

                “How do you already know?” Stiles lightly panted.

                “You dad brought my mom in on the case. She texted me the details.”

               “So we’re helping, right?”

                “Mom said to keep out of it.” Scott shut his locker. “And I think your dad said the same thing.”

                “Has that ever stopped us before? Come on, let’s go.” Stiles turned around, but Scott grabbed his book bag and pulled him back.

                “We’ve got Econ. in five minutes.”

                “Right, I forgot about your short-term memory loss. You missed the part about the supernatural creature that killed an entire family, slashed them to bits, and ate their organs.”

               “No. But you must’ve forgotten your dad’s the Sheriff. He wants us to stay out of it.”

               “There’s something eating people’s organs! Are you telling me we’re not going to do anything about it?”

                “Maybe we should let the adults handle this one.” Kira said. “You never know, Beacon Hills might just have a normal cannibal. Like Hannibal Lector, or something.”

                “Normal cannibal…two words that should never be placed together in a sentence.” Stiles glanced from Scott to Kira and then back to Scott. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You want to stay in school and go to class?” As he was walking away backwards, he yelled back at them, “I have never heard of anything more irresponsible in my life!”

               “Says the one hunting a cannibal…” Scott muttered.

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

               “I said,” John said forcefully as he walked out of his office with Parrish close behind him, “I don’t want anyone on site. Review the photos and don’t blame me for the nightmares.”

               Parrish and John stopped in the bull pen. “But, Sheriff, don’t you feel like we’re missing something?”

               “Yes. And that is why Agent McCall is bringing in an expert from Quantico who deals with this sort of thing.” John puts his hand on Parrish’s shoulder. “Look, I know what you’re feeling, you want to do something more. But we can’t. We don’t know enough to do anything.”

                “We know that there’s a cannibal cutting people open to eat their insides.”

               “And for the moment, that’s all we know.” Walking up behind Parrish was Deputy Jones. He looked timid as he stopped in front of John. “Jones.”

               “Sorry, sir, but there’s someone here to see you. I put her in your office to wait until you were done.”

               John smiled. “Does she have bagels and coffee?”

                Jones looked confused. “No, sir. It isn’t Mrs. McCall.”

               “Then who is it?” The smile dropped from John’s face. He peered over Jones’ shoulder at his office window. Through it, he could see a woman with wavy brown hair wearing a Navy blue coat and jeans.

               “It’s your wife, sir.”

               Jones awkwardly shifted pressure from one leg to the other. They all knew about the Sheriff’s wife – her death eight years ago and her miraculous reappearance. Given that they were the ones who had to verify her story with the Witness Protection Program, they were the first ones to know. In a station and town as small as Beacon Hills, nothing really ever stays a secret that long.

                John cleared his throat. “Uh, Parrish…get on the line with Agent McCall and see where he’s at with that specialist. Jones, you…uh, you go back to doing whatever it was that you were doing.”

                John walked between them and headed to his office. He places his hand on the door knob and takes a deep breath before walking in. There she was, standing in front of his desk, looking down at a framed photo of the two of them and Stiles he kept on his desk.

                This was the first time he’s seen her, outside of the papers, since she’s been back. He’s heard her voice on his voicemail, read her story in the paper, but he’s never mustered up the courage to actually see her. John supposes she got impatient and took matters into her own hands.

               She put the picture back the way she found it and turned to face John. He could see plain as day that she was wearing her wedding rings.

               “Hello, John.”

                “Claudia.”

               The stood there awkwardly on opposite sides of the room. It went on for about a minute or so, John holding on to the door knob, Claudia gently tapping the desk with her nail. When it became too much, Claudia was the first to make a move. She walked over to John and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck like she’s always done. Hesitantly, John responded.

                For a moment, John let himself believe that no time has passed since the last time he held her like this. That she was never sick. That today was a normal Tuesday afternoon and that his wife just stopped by for a visit. She looked the same as she did the last time he saw her; she smelled that same, too, like coffee grounds and lavender.

                He breathed her in and held her tighter. He felt water on his neck and knew Claudia was softly crying. She tried taking deep breaths to calm down the wave of emotion that crashed over her. She didn’t know how much she’s missed this – her husband holding her in his arms – until just now.

                “I’m sorry.” Claudia muttered. She was the first to pull away, whipping her eyes. “I know this is all new to you. I shouldn’t have just come at you like that.”

               “It’s fine Claudia. This is probably weirder for you than it is for me.” John placed his hands on either arm and gently rubbed up and down.

                “You could say that. One moment I’m in the hospital, Stiles curled up next to me, and I close my eyes to go to sleep. When I wake up, eight years have flown by and I’m clawing my way out of the ground.” She pulled away from him. She tried putting on a smile to let him know she was alright, but he knows her well enough to see that it’s fake. “Where does the time go?”

               John gave her a genuine smile to let her know everything was alright. “It’s good to see you, Claud.”

                “You too, John.” She sat down on the couch and patted the seat beside her.

                “Sorry I haven’t really spoken to you since you…came back. I wanted to make sure Stiles was okay with everything that’s been going on before we got together.”

                Claudia waved him down. “It’s alright, John. Twisting your words around, this is probably harder for you than it is for me. You’ve had eight years to adjust to life without me, move on and heal. To show up in your lives again after all this time will take some getting used to.”

               “How are you so calm about this?”

               Claudia chuckled darkly. “It’s taken me a couple weeks and a lot of talking-down from Alan to be this calm.” She playfully nudged his shoulder. “Wine helps, too. But in all seriousness, I was a complete mess when I first ‘woke up’, I guess you could call it. I didn’t understand what was going on or how much time had actually passed. All I wanted to do was go home and see my boys.”

               “Probably would’ve given me a heart attack.”

               “With your bad cholesterol? No kidding. It took a while for Peter and Alan to explain everything to me; that I couldn’t pick up my life where I left off. You and Stiles have moved on and I needed to accept that. I can’t say that I’m all the way there, but it’s gets less painful every day. Well, almost.” Claudia looked down at her hands. She intertwined them and fiddled with her thumbs. “I have no expectations when it comes to us, John. Our marriage ended when you put me in the ground. You don’t want to pick up where we left off and I understand that. I guess you could say we’re divorced. It’ll take some time to get used to, but I’ll adjust. But the one thing I will not sacrifice is Stiles.” She looked up at him with blatant determination. “I can’t lose him, too, John.”

               “You’re his mom, Claud. You always will be, dead _or_ alive.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll do everything I can to get rid of his anger, but the rest is up to you and him.”

               “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

                “You do know who we’re talking about, right?”

                Outside, there was a commotion stirring up by the front desk. Harsh voices commanding someone to stop. There was a scuffling and squeaking of a pair of shoes and then the door to John’s office burst open.

                “Dad, we need to talk-” Stiles shouted as he stumbled through the doorway, a Deputy’s hand gripping his arm. When he saw his mother sitting next to John, he stopped completely. He stood there in the doorway, with his eyes wide and mouth still open but the words caught in his throat.

               “I’m sorry, sir. I told him you were busy…”

                “That’s okay, Deputy.” John said. He stood up and helped Claudia to her feet. “We’ll take it from here.”

                The deputy nodded to the Sheriff and his wife and scowled unhappily at Stiles before walking back out to his desk. John stood awkwardly beside Claudia, not really sure on what he was supposed to be doing to bridge this “gap” between his wife….ex-wife and his son. Claudia didn’t seem concerned that Stiles was shocked to see her, she was in fact angry he was here.

                “Shouldn’t you be in school?!” She asked, crossing her arms and taking a step forward.

                “Shouldn’t you be dead?” Stiles angrily retorted. Who was she to come back from the dead and expect to be act like his mom?

               “Stiles!” John shouted. He grabbed Stiles by the collar and pulled him into the office, slamming his office door behind him.

                “That is no excuse to skip school!” Claudia yelled back. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. John held back a smile; he was well familiar with her frustrated look. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

               “I came to my _dad_ ,” Stiles stressed the ending. The end of his eyebrow twitched, asking for her to challenge him.

               “And it couldn’t wait until after school ended?” John asked.

               “No,” He glanced between his dad and his mom, “Not really.”

               John leaned back against his desk. “Well, let’s have it. What is it?”

               “I want to know about the case.” Stiles walked further into the room and dropped all his bags on the couch. “The pictures you sent me this morning, there were bite marks. But not like the bite marks of a were-animal – with only four canine teeth puncturing the skin – but every single tooth is a point.”

               “John…” Claudia slowly turned towards John; her face carefully blank. In an even tone, she said, “What have you’ve you and our son been up to while I was gone?”

               John opened his mouth and closed it again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Practical….life skills?”

               “And those skills include showing a minor gruesome crime scene photos and asking to him to help solve murders in between studying and lacrosse?”

                “Like he said, practical life skills.” Stiles pulled out his phone and pulled up the photo John had sent him earlier that morning. He had circle the bite marks left on the victim’s skin. “See?”

               AS John spoke, Claudia took the phone. “We’ve established that. Melissa gathered short, brown hairs from the bodies and we’re running it through forensics.”

               “Hold on…” Claudia muttered. She zoomed in on the bite marks. “I know these bites.” She looked up at John. “May I see the file?”

               “You know what killed this family?” John asked skeptically, but handed her the case file anyway. Inside the brown folder were statements, reports, and the gruesome crime scene photos.

               “I hope I’m not.” She opened the file and flipped through until she found the photos she was looking for.

               Two close up pictures of Mrs. Walcott’s body after it had been washed down by the M.E before the autopsy began – one of her neck and the other of her midsection. Her neck had been slashed by what appeared to be three claws. Her midsection was then tore open, her intestines pulled out, and then partially eaten.

               “It’s the signature killing of a Wendigo.”

               “A what now?” Stiles asked.

               “Wendigo. A supernatural cannibalistic shape-shifter. They are primarily migratory, only coming out of the woods every so often to feed. When they do, it’s usually limited to transients, people of long status who won’t be missed. It’d like to say it was rare that a Wendigo would attack a family, but unfortunately it’s not. The Wendigo that did this was most likely a child in their late teens, otherwise he or she would know how to control the urge.”

               “You said this was a signature?”

               Claudia nodded. “When a Wendigo hunts, it’ll stalk its prey for a while to get comfortable with its patterns. Won’t take more than a couple days. After a pattern has been established, the Wendigo will strike, coming up from behind their victim to slash their throat to prevent them from screaming. Screaming attracts attention and a then meal is wasted. Afterwards, the Wendigo will drag its victim to someplace more secluded if it’s not already there. The Wendigo will act fast after the victim’s throat has been slit. Eat while it’s still fresh. The Wendigo will then tear open the victim’s midsection to reveal the organs and then go to town.”

               John looked visibly shaken by the details of the crime. “H-How do we know who’s a Wendigo? What do they look like?”

               “They’re shape-shifters, Dad.” Stiles picked up one of the photos to get a closer look. “They could look like anyone.”

                “True.” Claudia nodded, taking the graphic photo away from Stiles and putting them both back into the folder. “But when a Wendigo is stalking or eating, they can’t help revealing themselves. They’ll have white eyes except for pin-point pupils; their fingernails will elongate into razor sharp claws; and their teeth will become indivually pointed.”

               “Where’s the first place we should look?” John asked.

                “Too late, now. If there’s any good news in all of this, Wendigo’s don’t stop someplace twice. They drop in, kill the entire family, and then disappear again.”

               “The entire family?” Stiles asked. “To your knowledge, there have never been any survivors to a Wendigo attack?”

               ““No. Never.” Claudia looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?” She looked up at John. “Is there a survivor?”

                “Yeah, but he hasn’t said anything since he stumbled into the E.R last night.” John tapped his finger on the case file. “You can understand why.”

                “That’s impossible, John.” Claudia urged. “A Wendigo _never_ leaves a survivor!”

                “Maybe he or she just wasn’t that hungry?” Stiles asked sarcastically. “You know, a big family meal like that. How much human can the guy take?”

               “Stiles, now is not the time to be funny,” Claudia scolded. “It is absolutely unheard of that a Wendigo would leave a perfectly good meal unharmed.”

                “Relatively unharmed,” John suddenly spoke up. It had just occurred to him what Melissa had told him. He took out his phone and pulled up a picture she had sent him. “Sean had a bite mark on his thigh. Other than that and witnessing his family torn to pieces, there was nothing else wrong with him.”

                Claudia’s face sunk in horror. “Oh God…”

                “What?” Stiles asked. He’s only seen his mother look like that when she found out about her condition. He’ll always connect that reaction with the promise of death. “What does it mean?”

                She ignored his question and stared spout off directions to John. “You need to isolate him in the hospital or detain him here. He needs to be as far away from people as possible.”

                “We have no reason to bring him in-”

               “Fine. Put some Deputies outside his door. The next couple hours are crucial.”

                “Before I pull overtime, do you mind telling me why?”

                “Stiles,” Claudia turned to her son. “What happens when a human is bitten by an Alpha wolf?”

                “Either they turn or they die. It’s a 50-50 shot….” It dawned on him. His eyes widened. “Are you saying that’s what’ll happen to Sean?”

                “A bite by any supernatural creature means a 50-50 shot of turning or being killed. It’s only were’s that require an alpha.” Claudia turned back to John. “Put Deputies on him to keep him isolated. If he dies, he’s in the hospital, but if he turns….”

                “He’s a cannibal still in the hospital.” John pushed off his desk and leaned out the office door. He waved Parrish over and instructed him to get deputies over to the hospital. A “protection detail”, he told him. “How long till we know which?”

                “Six to twelve hours.”

                “He’s sixteen, Claudia. Is there anything, you know….” John wiggles his fingers at the both of them, “ _witchy_ you can do to help him?”

                “If you mean keeping him human, that’s impossible. If you mean making him comfortable until he passes away, that I can do.”

                “So we have no other choice other than putting him down.” Stiles said mournfully.

                “There’s no ‘ _we’_ this time, kid,” John picked up Stiles’ backpack off the couch and handed it to him. “Go to class, go to lacrosse practice, go home and do homework. Let the adults handle this one.”

                Stiles tried protesting, but John got him out the door. The desk deputy got up and escorted Stiles the rest of the way out. John turned back to see Claudia smiling.

               “That hasn’t changed.”

               “He’s only gotten bigger.” John smiled back. He walked back over to Claudia in the center of the room. “So, in case Sean does turn. How can we stop him?”

               “Nothing special. Bullets will do, but you have to aim at his heart.”

               “I’m not happy about this, Claud…” John muttered. He crossed his arms and hung his head.

               Claudia placed her hand on his arm and gently stroked him with her thumb. “I know, John, neither am I. If there was a different way of doing this, I’d be the first to jump at it.”

               “Thank you,” John said. He twisted his hand so that it captured hers in his.

               “For what? Making you kill a teenage boy?”

               “For coming to see me.” He stroked her hand with his thumb. “Patience was never really one of your strong suits. Persistence on the other hand….”

               Claudia smiled. She glanced down at their intertwined hands. Her smile faltered as she pulled away from him. She walked over to the couch to collect her jacket and purse.

               “I should go. There’s some people I need to talk to. You need to get back to work.”

               “Uh, yeah.” John nodded. He walked over to his office door and held it open for her.

                “But, uh, before I go…” Claudia paused in the doorway. “Would you and Stiles be interested in having dinner at my place this weekend? I know today wasn’t really the ideal time to talk, but maybe over a hot meal we can try?”

               “I’d like that,” John smiled.

               “I’ll text you the details.” She reached up on her tip-toes and kissed John’s cheek. She hadn’t realized what she had done until she was out the door.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

                When Melissa stepped into Sean Walcott’s isolated room, his dinner sat cold and untouched off to the side. He laid in his bed, unmoving, just staring up at the ceiling.

               “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Melissa asked him as she took his vitals. He didn’t respond. She let go of his wrist and wrote down her findings on his chart. He rolled over on his side, his back towards her. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything. There’s a Deputy standing right outside.”

                Melissa’s maternal instinct kicked in and she reached out and rubbed his back before walking away. She nodded to the Deputy outside Sean’s door.

                A couple twists and turns down the hallway, she reached the nurses station expecting to find her coffee cold. Instead, she found her two teenage sons, Scott and Isaac, sitting on the floor rolling marbles back and forth.

               “Hi, mom.” Scott said as he looked up. He simultaneously flicked a marble at Isaac that caught him in the inside of his thigh.

                Isaac winced, but looked up at her cheerfully enough. “Hi, mom.”

                “Boys….” She said as kindly as she could in public.

               She knew why they were here. John had given her a heads up when he personally dropped the Deputy off at Sean’s door. They talked about Wendigos and Claudia over coffee in the cafeteria. It wasn’t a long conversation, maybe ten minutes, but it was long enough to update Melissa. She appreciated it and told him as much as he left, promising to come back in a couple hours to….’ _deal with’_ the situation.

               “I’m guessing Sherriff’s told you?” Scott asked.

               “He’s told me that he was handling it. Like he should.” She put a copy of Sean’s chart on the nurses’ stand. “Which makes me wonder why you two are here.”

                “Just as back up.” Scott insisted.

               “Yeah, just in case Stilinski can’t get it up.” Isaac added on. He gave Scott a wicked grin when he realized it was an induendo.

               “Just…stay out of his way, okay.” She pointed her finger at them. “Back up _only_.”

               “Yes, mom,” they both chorused. As soon as she turned her back, they went back to playing marbles.

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

                Stiles and Malia were laying on their stomachs on Stiles’ bed, their school books and paper in front of them. Malia gave an irritated sigh before closing her math textbook.

               “Hey, hey, we’re not finished yet.” Stiles said, looking up from his history paper.

               Malia threw one leg across Stiles and rolled so that she was straddling him as he laid back on the bed. “Yes we are,” was all she said before claiming his mouth with hers. It took a couple minutes for Stiles to regain control.

               “Okay…” Stiles sighed, sitting up and rolling Malia off him. “I promised I’d help you study. Then…” He gave her one last long, slow kiss, “we can go back to that.”

               “Okay,” Malia sighed, a smile playing at her lips. She turned back to the text books and opened up her math.

                Stiles knew what he was getting into was wrong while he was still uncertain about who his father was. If it was John, who Stiles hopped beyond anything else it was, then he and Malia were free to pursue whatever…. _this_ was between them. If Peter was in fact his father, then he would be mortified beyond belief. His world would turn upside down yet again and the girl laying in his bed would be completely and unquestionably off limits.

                If Stiles could keep his hormones in check until dinner this weekend with his mom, then he’ll be able to make a clear choice on what to do with Malia and most importantly, his life.

                Stiles glanced down at Malia’s textbook, to be sure she was studying, and saw that it was more of a coloring book than a text book. Paragraphs upon paragraphs were highlighted in three various colors.

                “What’s with all the highlighters?”

                Malia picked up the different highlighters as she explained. “Green is for the things I understand. Yellow is for I’m working on it. And red means I have no clue.” Malia’s face fell as she turned the page of her text. It was filled with red. “I’m mostly using red.”

                Something about the color coding struck Stiles as familiar. He turned his head to his ‘Corkboard of Crime’. There, he saw newspaper cutouts of articles and pictures thumbtacked to the board with red and green strings connecting them. A smile pulled at his lips and his heart.

                _Study first, remember?_ Stiles reminded himself as he fought the impulse to kiss her.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

                While Melissa was making her nightly rounds, she decided to swing by Sean’s room to check on him. It’s been very quiet in his isolated section of the wing and she wanted to make sure he wasn’t dead. True, the alternative is becoming a cannibalistic shape-shifter, but what she found more horrifying was that the boy might die alone and afraid.

                She turned the corner to his wing and noticed the Deputy that was stationed outside his door was gone. At first the thought crossed her mind that the Deputy had just stepped out to use the restroom or grab some coffee, but as she stepped closer to the room, a feel of dread washed over her.

                “Sean?” Melissa grabbed the door handle and slowly pushed open the door.

               The room was dark and silent. When she flicked on the light switch, she immediately noticed that his bed was empty. She pushed the door opened farther and stepped inside. On the other side of the bed, the Deputy was lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor. His throat was slashed and his midsection ripped open. Beside his corpse was Sean Walcott, his hands wrist deep in the Deputy’s midsection and his mouth covered in blood. Sean pulled out a section of the Deputy’s large intestine and began to chew on it.

               “I couldn’t help it. I’m just so hungry,” Sean said mournfully. He looked up at Melissa, his eyes clear white and warm blood spilling from his mouth. “I’m just so hungry!”

                Melissa was paralyzed with shock. Sean’s transformation happened more quickly than expected. He rose from the ground slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Melissa. His new prey.

               “I think I’m ready to talk now.” Sean tilted his head to the side.

               Melissa found her strength and began to back away towards the door, gripping the wall to guide her. As soon as she found the door frame, she turned and bolted. She was maybe few feet out the door when Sean tackled her to the ground. He rolled back on the balls of his feet and rose to crouch over Melissa. He gripped her by the ankles and began to drag her back into the room.

                She screamed as loud as she could, clawing at the linoleum ground. She managed to roll over on her back and get one leg free. With that leg, she began kicking Sean. She clawed at his hands and face. Sean’s razor sharp teeth were inches away from Melissa’s face when a deafening roar was sounded from down the hallway.

                Both Melissa and Sean turned to see what, or who, had made that noise. It was Scott. He and Isaac both were wolfed out and ready to pounce.

                Sean let go of Melissa and rose steadily, roaring. As soon as Sean let go, Melissa scooted back to the wall, curling up into a ball. Scott and Isaac rushed Sean at the same time. Scott flew into the air and tackled Sean to the ground. Isaac knelt down beside Melissa and grabbed her hand. He covered her with his body as he moved her towards the elevators and out of the combat zone.

                The fight between Sean and Scott last for only a moment longer. They both struggled in trying to get the upper hand over the other until finally, Scott pushed Sean against the wall. Sean hissed and kicked Scott with all his strength. Scott was sent flying back into the other wall, hitting his head and leaving him momentarily confused. It was enough time for Sean to get up and run away.

                Scott got up and half-way stumbled over to his mom and Isaac. Isaac helped Melissa stand up. She was covered in the Deputies blood, but otherwise no harm.

               “I’m alright. I’m fine.” Melissa said.

                “Are you sure?” Scott asked.

                “Go get that son of a bitch.” Melissa angrily sighed.

                Isaac nodded to Scott. “I’ll stay here with her.”

                Scott nodded. He turned, growling, and raced off after Sean. It wasn’t that hard following him considering he left a trail of smeared bloody hand prints on the walls. Sloppy of him, but he’s only just turned. Scott followed the trail up the stairs and on to the hospital roof. He kicked open the door and rushed in.

                On the rooftop, Sean was standing in the center. Scott pounced on him, tackling him to the graveled ground. They struggled, exchanging growls and snarls and scratch marks. Sean managed to roll Scott over on to his stomach and get on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Scott’s neck in a chokehold. He placed his knees on Scott’s spine and pressed down while he pulled Scott up in the chokehold.

                Scott could feel his back bending to the point of breaking. The pressure on his spine was becoming unbearable. Black dots floated in his vision, the air becoming sharp and cold. Like ice. He was losing consciousness. Thinking fast, Scott decided to play dead…in a sense. He let his muscles relax and stopped fighting Sean. He let the Wendigo believe he’d knocked him out.

                Sean let Scott drop to the floor. He rolled Scott onto his back and straddled him. He raised his claws into the air, preparing to strike, when suddenly three shots rang out. For a moment, Scott thought the first shot was perhaps a crack of thunder, but then Sean’s blood splattered his face. His eyes shot open and saw a small hole in Sean’s chest with blood quickly staining the shirt around it.

Sean barely noticed that he’d been shot. He turned from Scott to focus on the new arrival. He snarled, brandishing his claws. Two more shots ripped through Sean, both hitting his chest. Sean crumbled in on himself and fell to the ground beside Scott.

Scott sat up, propping himself on his elbows. Stepping out of the stairwell in full uniform, gun smoke billowing out of his gun, was Sheriff John Stilinski. He kept his gun fixed on Sean as he cautiously stepped forward. He nudged the boy with his foot. When he was satisfied that the boy was dead, he holstered his gun and extended a hand to Scott.

Scott gladly took it.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

**LATER**

                The official story John had told Scott to report was that he and his brother Isaac were at the hospital to visit their mom when they had heard her screams. They ran to investigate and saw Sean attacking her. They fought him off, but Sean took Scott hostage. On the roof they fought again. That was when John showed up and shot Sean three times.

                John then confirms Scott’s story by stating that they confirmed Sean killed his parents and ate some of them. In a moment of sanity, he came to the hospital. John warned the hospital and put a Deputy outside Sean’s room when they began to suspect something. Sean must have caught on that the police were closing in and decided to make a break for it. He killed the Deputy guarding him and then tied to kill Melissa when she tried to stop him.

                When asked why he was there, he stated that he was already on his way to the hospital to have coffee with Melissa. As soon as he got there, he received a phone call from her, panicked, saying that Sean took her son. John wasted no time in following the blood trail to the roof.

                With the all-important question as to why Sean ate the people he killed, John chalked that up to a disturbed mind. He’ll say as much in his report.

                It would be a couple more hours until everyone was released to head home. Scott and Isaac headed back home riding Scott’s motorcycle. John draped his Sheriff’s jacket over Melissa’s shoulders as he walked her to her car. She was still covered in the deputy’s blood and still in shock, but she was standing tall.

               “Sure you’re okay to drive home?”

                “Yeah,” She sighed, tucking a hair behind her ear. “Just want to go home a get this day over with.”

               “You and me both.” John smiled and nudged her slightly with his shoulder.

                A faint smile tugged at her lips. Melissa unlocked her car and was about to open her door, but John beat her to it. He opened the door and held it open for her while she got in. He shut the door behind her. She rolled down the window and smiled up at him.          

                “Thanks again for tonight.”

                “Oh, what’s a little cannibal attack between friends?”

                She chuckled. “And good luck on dinner tomorrow. I’m sure it can’t be easy.”

               “I’ll let you know wither way.” John smiled at her and tapped the hood of her car as he walked back. “Goodnight, Melissa.”

                “’Night, John.”

**HILGROVE APARTMENTS**

**3B – CLAUDIA STILINSKI’S APRTMENT**

               John and Stiles take a moment to collect themselves outside Claudia’s apartment door. They’re wearing nice clothes, nothing fancy, just something presentable to wear to a dinner with your dead wife and son’s mother.

                John sighed deeply and looked over at Stiles. “Ready?”

                “Do I have a choice?”

                “Not really.”

                “Then I’m ready.”

                John gave Stiles an encouraging smile. “Here we go.”

                He reached out and knocked three times on the door. Claudia opened the door with a bright smile on her face moments later.

               “Hi mom.”

**END**


	9. Chapter 8

**HILLGROVES APARTMENTS**

**APARTMENT OF CLAUDIA COLE**

**3B**

            The Stilinski boys stood outside of a flat-matte black door; a cinnamon and twig wreath with a tiffany blue bow framed the faux-golden apartment number – 3B.

            They stood anxiously in front of the door for several seconds without knocking. Stiles Stilinski glanced over at his father – the man he presumes is his father – John Stilinski to see him absently fiddling with the bottle of red wine he bought for dinner. He was wearing a burgundy sweater and dark blue jeans with Dockers. He was clean cut and clean shaven, smelling a pinch too much like his aftershave.

            “Dad,” Stiles said, nudging John slightly. John looked up from the bottle and at his son. Stiles gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s just dinner.”

            “So was the Red Wedding and look how that turned out.” Stiles wanted to laugh at his _father’s_ pop. culture reference if it wasn’t so ominous. John shook his head slightly and smiled reassuringly. “I’m kidding. I’m sure dinner will be fine.” He reached out to knock on the door, but pulled back. He glanced confusedly at Stiles. “I thought I told you to put on something else?”

            “What?” Stiles took a step back and looked himself over. “What’s wrong with this?”

            Stiles was wearing red high-top converse, dark jeans, and a red flannel button-up shirt – nothing out of the ordinary. John reached out and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a vintage-worn grey shirt with _Desperate Housewives_ in bold deep red lettering.

            “That’s what’s wrong with this,” John said disapprovingly.

            “Oh….hey….forgot I was wearing that…..” Stiles laughed uncomfortably. “Look at that….”

            “Button it up and keep it on.” John said sternly. He waited until the shirt was covered before knocking on the door.

            “Coming!” A voice called out from inside the apartment. The boys could hear light footsteps padding to the door. The chain-link lock on the door was removed, so was the dead-bolt, before the door swung open.

            “Hi, mom.”

            Claudia Stilinski, Stiles’ back-from-the-dead mother, stood in front of them with a bright, welcoming smile. She wore a grey crewneck sweater than clung to her curved waistline and a peach-cream tulle skirt. What shocked Stiles the most, other than the razor sharp butcher’s knife in her hand, was what she wore on-top of her outfit, shielding it from the hazards of the kitchen. It was a plain white apron with a green and white plaid pattern boarders. The strings that tie around the neck and waist where green. A plain apron it would be if it were not for the layered handprints on the body. In pink paint were Claudia’s handprints and on top of them, in green paint, where Stiles’ small hands.

            Claudia noticed the slight unease in her son. She glanced down at the apron before looking back at him. “Your father let me into the garage to get my things during his lunch break.”

            “You always did refuse to cook without it,” John smiled fondly as he handed her the bottle of wine.

            “Still do.” She smiled back at him. She didn’t comment when he pulled his fingers away from hers before they could touch while exchanging the bottle. She took a step back and held the door open wider. “Care for a tour?”

            “Yes, please.” John said. He gently nudged Stiles ahead of him through the door.

            Once inside, it felt like the boys had stepped into a housewife’s magazine. The walls were a Tiffany Blue color that was complimented nicely with a white baseboards and trim around the ceiling.

            There was a small hallway connecting the apartment and the door. In it, handing on the left wall, was a painted white wooden window shutter that was currently being used as a mail holder. Small hooks were drilled into the shutter that acted as key hooks. One of the hooks already held Claudia’s familiar thin red hoodie. Below it was a tall, galvanized French flower bucket that held a black umbrella. On the right wall were empty, white picture frames.

            “Haven’t had a chance to go through all the boxes yet,” Claudia said, gesturing to the wall with the empty frames. She turned to Stiles. “Would it be alright with you if I put some of your pictures up?”

            “I don’t see why not since you’ve decided to get your own place.” Stiles didn’t mean for it to be rudely passive aggressive, it just fumbled out of his mouth as such.

            John was about to grab Stiles’ arm and pull him back out into the hallway outside. Before he could, Claudia handed Stiles the butcher knife and the bottle of wine and stepped forward. As she was unbuttoning Stiles’ flannel shirt, he through a worried look at John. John shook his head, crossed his arms, and took a step back. He didn’t know what kind of game Claudia and Stiles were playing, but if he wanted to play, John would let him play.

            “Take it off,” Claudia said, taking back the bottle of wine and butcher knife. She left the shirt unbuttoned without opening it.

            Stiles hesitantly did as he was told. He took off the flannel and held it in his hands, squeezing it with his fist. Claudia took her time in examining her son’s shirt before looking at him.

            “Do what you want, Stiles. Say what you want. Wear what you want.” She held up her index finger. “For tonight, and tonight only. That’s what this dinner is about – getting all your built up anger and resentment out, to ask as many questions as you have. Be as rude as you want tonight, honey, because tomorrow it all stops. All of it. Understood?”

            “Yes, ma’am.” Stiles sounded like a little kid again, being scolded by his mom for doing something irresponsibly silly.

            Behind them, further in the apartment, a timer rang. Claudia looked over her shoulder.

            “That should be the oven.” She said, more so to herself.

           “I’ll help with dinner.” John volunteered. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook under the mail shutter.

           “Now does that mean help or ruin dinner?” Claudia asked playfully. When they were newly married, and even when they were first dating, John always wanted to help her with dinner. More often than not, his helping would lead to a botched recipe.

            John help his hands up. “I’ll only touch what you tell me to. Nothing more.”

            “Good.” She handed him back the bottle of wine and the butcher knife. “You can put that in the fridge to let it chill before dinner.”

            John gave her a mock salute and walked past her, down the rest of the small hall, and hung a left. Claudia turned to Stiles. “And you can help me move boxes off the table.”

            She turned on her heel and walked straight into the body of the apartment. Once out of the small hallway the apartment opened up. To the left, where John had walked off to, were sliding glass barn-doors that acted as doors to the kitchen. The rod the barn doors were hanging from was attached over the wide archway. Stiles could see John leaning into an open fridge through the glass.

            In the middle of the open room, in front of the hallway, yet closer to the kitchen, was a wooden farm style dining table with boxes piled on and around it. It was a nice rustic pop amid the chic style. All the boxes were marked in Sharpie with Claudia’s name. These were the boxes Derek and Stiles had spent the day moving out of the attic. These were the boxes that were too painful for John to pack alone, so Melissa helped him months after Claudia was buried.

            “Just set them down in the living room somewhere,” Claudia instructed as she picked up a box. She walked through another wide archway to the right of the table that Stiles assumed was the living room.

            Stiles put on his flannel shirt, buttoning it up, before he went to work. There were several boxes, but the two of them moved them relatively quickly. They didn’t talk much, just moved the boxes from one room to another. When they were finished, Claudia went off the resume cooking, and to make sure John wasn’t destroying the meal, leaving Stiles up to his own devices.

             Like all the walls in the apartment Stiles has seen, the living room was also Tiffany Blue with white trimmings. There was a square ‘U’ shaped couch pashed up against the fall wall; the wall itself was nothing more than reinforced windows. Currently, the white drapes were pulled back to reveal the vibrant lights of Beacon Hills. To the left of the wall to the left of the couch was entirely deep mahogany shelves, waiting to be filled with books and movies. In between the arms of the ‘U’ shaped couch was a deep mahogany coffee table. To the right of the couch was a standing bar tray yet without any alcohol on it. Winging the coffee table, yet facing the couch, were two arm chairs. Stiles though he would see a TV, but either the previous tenant took it with him/her or the apartment didn’t come with one. When Stiles looked up, he saw wooden fan blade covers in the shape of palm leaves attached to the fan.

            Stiles walked out of the living room, keen on inspecting the place more.

            Behind the dining table was the back wall of the apartment. It had two matte-black doors with silver doorknobs evenly spaced apart on either end of the wall with a door-less doorframe in between.

            Stiles walked over to the black door closest to him. He opened it to reveal a bland and bare bedroom with cream walls and two white doors that lead to the bathroom and closet respectively. He walked back out, closing the door behind him.

            The door-less doorframe (say that five times fast), was for the small laundry room that could only hold the washer and dryer, one stacked on top of the other, a laundry basket next to it with a clothesline above it, and a plastic shoe organizer mounted to the wall that was being used to hold cleaning supplies instead of shoes.

            The second black door was a couple steps away from the kitchen. When Stiles opened the door, the walls weren’t Tiffany Blue or the bland cream, but a soft lavender.

_This is her room,_ Stiles thought. He was going to take another step in, but thought better of it. She wanted tonight to be about healing and reconnecting. Stiles wanted that, too. Snooping around her new bedroom for traces of Peter Hale wasn’t a part of the night’s agenda.

             Although there weren’t any overt signs of the psychopath, there were some covert ones that nagged in the back of Stiles’ mind.

             Like how could his recently un-deceased, newly-single, broke mother afford an apartment in Hillgroves? It is one of the nicest, more costly, apartment complexes in Beacon Hills. It surely didn’t come from John; defiantly not on a Sherriff’s salary that’s budgeting a mortgage. With $117 million dollars to his name, Peter could surely afford a place like this. Another part of Stiles’ mind wants him to believe that Claudia could have gotten all this by using magic, but he knows his mother too well to think she would do that. She could cheat (in a fleeting moment of weakness), she could lie (to protect her family), but she could never use magic for her own personal gain. Off all things, that was the most immoral.

             This apartment, with all its furniture and renovations, were paid for by Peter Hale - Stiles’ possible father; his girlfriend’s definite father, and all-around unstable megalomaniac horn-dog.

 

LATER

            Dinner was served in style, as was customary with Claudia. Brussels sprouts pan-seared in maple syrup mixed with cranberries, pecans, and gorgonzola cheese; seared duck breast with port wine reduction. Claudia opened the bottle of wine John brought and poured it in their glasses.

            When Stiles took a bite of his duck breast, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. It was moist, savory, a stealthy explosion of culinary perfection in his mouth. He was young when his mom died and hadn’t yet tasted the finer meals in her recipe book. Now he could understood what John meant whenever he said he missed Claudia’s cooking – it was almost always preceded by the kitchen’s smoke detector and was followed by a phone call to the Chinese take-out.

            When Stiles opened his eyes, he saw that John had also taken a moment to savor the food. Claudia looked at the both of them, awaiting anxiously for their judgment. Taking their silence as a negative, she quickly said,

            “It’s been a couple years since I had the chance to cook decent food. I’m sure I’m a bit rusty-”

            “It’s fantastic, mom.” Stiles cut her off. He smiled reassuringly and took another bite.

            After that, there was hardly any talking except for the occasional praise of Claudia’s work. The only sounds were that of their eating and the scraping of forks and knives on their plates.

            Claudia cleared their plates when they were finished and brought out desert - mini cherry cheesecake trifles served in a wine glasses with small silver spoons sticking out. They were chilled perfectly. Like the duck, every bite of the cheesecake trifles were divine.

            “Best meal I’ve had in a long time,” John said between large bites.

            “It took Dad nearly forever to learn how to cook without burning the food, and it still doesn’t taste right.” Stiles added.

            “Please tell me you don’t live entirely off take-out.” Claudia glanced at John, who was now avoiding eye contact. She swatted his arm. “John Stilinski, what in the world are you thinking?”

            “I’m thinking that it was better to eat take-out than burnt pasta.” John chuckled. He easily dodge the next blow.

           “How can you burn pasta?”

            “Easily, apparently,” Stiles added.

            “If you’re not careful, you just might be seeing me every night in the kitchen, making sure you two don’t starve to death. That or have a heart attack.” She turned to John, more serious. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping your cholesterol in check?”

            They began talking about John’s health – how Stiles has been watching it, what he’s supposed to do and not do – before moving on to Claudia’s recent doctor’s appointment. Alan tagged along when Claudia went in for her post-death check-up. All tests revealed her frontotemporal dementia is completely gone; even stranger still is that there were no traces of it left, almost as if it never existed. Aside from the back-from-the-dead diagnosis, she appears to be in perfect health – physically and mentally.

            Claudia was in the midst of pouring John another glass of wine when his cell phone rang. He got out of his seat and walked to where his coat hung in the hallway. After reading the caller ID, he excused himself to the hallway.

            Claudia glanced curiously down at Stiles. “Work?”

            Stiles shrugged and leaned back in his seat, his second cheesecake trifle in his hands. “Those are the only calls he gets these days. Work or me.”

            “Just you and the station,” Claudia mused, putting the bottle back in a wine bucket to chill. “That’s it?”

            Stiles tactfully caught on to what she was not so quietly asking. He quickly glanced up at her before going back to his desert. “If you’re wondering if he’s seeing anyone, the answer is no.”

            “Stiles-”

            “It’s okay, mom.” He shrugged again. “It’s only natural, I guess. For you to be curious. To us it’s been nearly nine years, but to you it’s maybe a month.”

            Claudia looked down at her hands, her engagement and wedding ring still on her finger. She mournfully twirled them around. “It’s just a lot to digest in a short amount of time.”

            “He’s a lot like you in that way,” Stiles said after a moment to comfort her. She looked at him with a confused expression on her face. “He still wears his wedding ring. Even if you weren’t here, it’ll be hard.”

            “You should have seen him when he was signing the ‘divorce’ papers. I think the Judge calling me Ms. Cole is what hit the ball home.”

            “You really aren’t coming home, are you?” Stiles asked quietly after nearly a minute of silence. “You’re Ms. Cole and we’re still the Stilinskis. You have an apartment and we still have the house. Seems like you only came back to leave.”

            Claudia reached across the table and took the wine glass out of Stiles’ hands. She put it on the table before taking both of his hands in hers. She leaned forward and kissed them. The way she looked at him with only love and heartbroken understanding made Stiles’ wish he hadn’t asked.

            “Leaving you once was hard enough, I’m not doing that again. You can come here whenever you like, and stay however long you like, but this is where I need to be.” She briefly let go of his hands to pull out a silver key from her pocket. She folded it into his hand. “Your father and I stopped being married the moment I was put in the ground. That doesn’t mean we stopped loving each other. For the rest of my life, I will love both of you and there is no force on this earth that could make me stop. I will always be your mom, but I can’t be Mrs. Stilinski.” She lifted her hand to place it on Stiles’ cheek. “Not this time around.”

            At that moment, John walked in, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He looked apologetic.

            “Oh, I know that look,” Claudia sighed. “What happened?”

            “Bar fight in Carson’s. Fifteen arrested and we’re short staffed. I’ve got to head in.” John took his coat off of the hook and walked over to the table. He put his hand on the back of his chair. “Ready to go, kid?”

            “To the station filled with drunk brawlers?” Claudia asked incredulously.

            John shook his head. “I’ll take him home first.”

            “Actually,” Stiles said, standing up. He put the apartment key in his pocket. “Can I stay here? The station is a couple minutes away; you can pick me up when you’re done.” Before John could say anything, Stiles pulled out his cell phone. “Mom doesn’t have a cell or a hardline. Mine’s fully charged and on full volume.”

            John looked over at Claudia for permission. She nodded with a smile on her face.

            “Okay,” John walked over and gave Stiles a hug. Claudia stood up and they hugged, albeit hesitantly at first. John was afraid that if he held her, he wouldn’t let her go. Claudia pulled back, but kept her hand on his arm. “I don’t know what time I’ll be finished. Considering how late it is right now, you might have to spend the night here.”

            “I’m cool with that.” He turned to Claudia and grimaced. “Just don’t eat me.”

            Claudia rolled her eyes and gently slapped Stiles’ stomach. “I’ll do my best.”

 

**LATER**

            After the dishes had been washed and the kitchen cleaned, Stiles and Claudia retired to the living room with their cups of hot cocoa with a peppermint stick in it. Stiles was stealthy enough to snag John’s laptop when he walked him down to his car to “grab his jacket”. The screen was small, so that meant getting close. Stiles was hesitant at first, like his father. He didn’t want to put himself in the position to have his mother hold him, afraid that everything would fall apart like a bad dream.

            Claudia put those fears to rest when she pulled Stiles to her after he set up the movie – Inception. She had her feet curled up on the couch, her arm around Stiles’ shoulders, and his back leaned against her. Soon, Claudia forgot entirely of Stiles and focused solely on the movie. This gave Stiles’ enough time to process his thoughts.

            After the movie was over and the credits rolled, Claudia was leaning forwards in her seat, the cup of cocoa no longer hot and nearly untouched.

            “What in the world did I just watch?” were the first words out of her mouth. “Is the top still spinning?” She looked over at Stiles with wide eyes. “Is it?”

           “The better question is, is the spinning top Cobb’s totem?” Claudia looked puzzled by Stiles’ question. He sat up from his slouch. He’s had to explain this to nearly everyone he’s watched it with, so this time shouldn’t be any different. Hopefully, it’ll go smoother than when he explained it to Scott.

            “Cobb never said the top was his totem. He’s clutching the top in his hand when Ariadne asks about totems, yeah, but the top was never Cobb's totem -- it was his wedding ring all along.”

           “And you know this because….”

           “Every time we see Cobb's hand in the dream world, he happens to have the ring on it.Meanwhile, every time we see Cobb's hand in the real world, he doesn't have it. It's not there on any of the present-day, non-dream scenes at the beginning, and it's not there in the last few scenes - meaning that the ending wasn't a dream.”

            “That’s a relief. Then way does he use the top if his totem is his ring?”

           “The top belonged to Mal, his dead wife. Totems must be something unique that only the owner knows well. Since the top was previously his wife's, that means Cobb must have had another totem. The ring seems like a perfect choice. He stopped wearing it when she died, but was too cheap to buy a new totem.”

            After a beat, she asked with a smile, “How much free time have you had to think about this?”

            “When I’m not running for my life, I find I have a lot of free time.”

            Claudia shakes her head. When she stands up, she takes Stiles’ empty mug and walks to the kitchen to rinse out the cups. When she comes back, Stiles is shutting down John’s computer.

           “Tired already?” Claudia asked.

            “Uh, no, actually,” Stiles shut the computer and pushed it away on the coffee table. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his legs. “I was hoping we could talk.”

            “Sure, honey.” She saw the nervousness in Stiles’ face and movements. She walked around the table to sit down on the couch. “What is it?”

            “When, ah, when the book – your book – was calling to me, screaming actually….it showed me something. Actually, it showed me everything. Everything to do with you from the moment you were born to….to the moment you died.”

            Claudia now knew where this was leading, but she decided not to rush him. She’d bite her tongue and ride along with his long winded, well thought-out roller-coaster. She simply listened like any mother would, reaching out to hold her son’s hand.

            “Tell me.”

            “You already know-”

            “Tell me anyway.”

            Stiles took a deep breath. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, but instead focused on their hands. “You and Peter Hale. He was your first – first boyfriend, first kiss, first….time. You loved him.”

            “I did.”

            “And he loved you.”

            “He did.”

            “But he cheated on you with a were- from out of town. A friend of the pack. You found him in his truck. With her.”

            “I did.”

            “You ran. Melissa and your sisters protected you.” When he mentioned Katherine and Piper, he could feel his mother’s grip tighten slightly. Briefly, Stiles wondered whether or not Claudia saw them in Heaven, which he could only assume to be true; he wondered if she messed them now that she was back. “And Talia Hale helped.”

            “You dated Coach Finstock for nearly a year and a half before your family was killed by a rabid werewolf omega. You received your powers-”

            “Powers you now have,” Claudia smiled.

            “The Hale pack caught the Omega and Peter helped you get justice. After that, you two became friends-with-benefits before you moved to Georgia for college. There, you met John Stilinski.” Claudia smiled at the fond memory. “Met, married, moved back to Beacon Hills. You gave up your powers to have a normal life, to start a family.”

            “What are you leaving out, Stiles,” Claudia quietly prods. She knew where Stiles was going, supposed to be going, but she needed him to get there himself. It would do him no good for her to say it outright.

            “You slept with him.” Stiles said accusingly, pulling his hands away from hers. He stood up and walked towards the empty bookshelf wall.

           “With you?” She asked quieter still.

            “With Peter! With that psychopathic mass murderer!” He spun around in his heels. His face was contorted with anger and heated tears welled up in his eyes. “You cheat on your husband, the man you _claim_ to love, with your ex-boyfriend for a romp in a dirty warehouse during a storm; only to come home to have sex with your husband to cover up your crime! Lo and behold, you find out your pregnant. What do you do? You claim the child as your husbands. You lie. You lie and take that small probability of me being another man’s child to your grave.” His lip trembled as his voice wavered. “And the Sheriff wonders where I learned to lie so well.”

            “You’re not finished.” Claudia stated. She remained on the couch as her son verbally tore her apart.

           “How can I be? Back nearly month and I already hate you. I hate that you’re a hypocrite. I hate that you have no idea who my father is. I hate that-” he sharply inhaled, the tears streaming freely now. “I hate that when you woke up, _he_ was the first one you turned to! I hate that you remember _him_ before me! If it was about knowing someone the longest, trusting someone that deeply, you could have gone to Melissa…..but you chose _him.”_ Stiles stopped yelling. He took a step back to control his breathing. He wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand while he spoke. “You say you love your husband as equally as Peter, however fucked up that is, but when you come back from the dead, you made your choice. And I can’t forgive you for that.” He waved his and around the room. “For any of this. Not for the cheating. Not for the lying. Not for choosing him over us. Not even for pimping yourself out to him one last time to get an apartment like this. I love you because you are my mom, and I always will, but that doesn’t mean you have my forgiveness.”

           Claudia wiped away the tears on her cheeks with her fingertips. She never imagined hearing all this from her son would hurt as much as it did. She berated herself mentally, but to hear it aloud….

           “Are you finished?” Claudia whispered. Every time she spoke to him it seemed like she grew quieter.

           Stiles waved his hand for her to talk. Instead, she got up and left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a thin knitting needle, a crystal attached to a string, and a thick piece of paper that was folded copious amounts of times. She unfolded the paper to reveal a complete map of Beacon Hills. She laid it out flat on the table. She held out her hand to Stiles, yet kept her eyes focused on the map.

            Stiles hesitantly placed his hand in his mothers. Before he could protest, she took up the knitting needle and pricked his finger. Stiles tried jerking away, but Claudia had a firm grip. She moved his finger over the map and let a few drops of blood spill onto the page. When she was satisfied, she released his hand.

            “Ostende nobis pater tuus mihi,” Claudia into the crystal hanging from the string.

           She repeated these words as she moved the crystal in small circles over the blood drops. Moments later, the blood began to move on its own. Claudia pulled the crystal away and stepped back, motioning Stiles to step forward. Stiles saw, or thought he saw, the blood slide across the map, leaving a crimson trail in its wake. The blood stopped moving once it found its destination. It seeped into the paper to reveal the location – the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department.

           Stiles looked up at his mother. He wasn’t sure what he saw on the page, but he knew what he saw on her face – _relief._

“What was that?”

            “What you were looking for.” She sighed, pulling Stiles into her chest. She buried her face in her son’s hair, holding him to her. When she pulled back, she was crying again. This times, they were happy, mixing beautifully with her smile. She held his face in her hands. “I can’t make you forgive me. Frankly, I don’t believe I deserve it. Not from you, not from your father. All I ask is that we try to put everything behind us and _move on._ Put my past behind us where it belongs and build a better future.” She smoothed her thumb across his cheekbone. “Can we do that?”

            “Yeah mom.” He nodded profusely, happy tears starting to stream. “We can do that.”


	10. Chapter 9

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

                “Someone really hated these guys,” Deputy Parrish greeted Sheriff Stilinski as he walked into the station house. The deputy look exhaustingly disheveled – dark bags under his weary eyes, uniform wrinkled with small amounts of blood droplets and dirt on it.

                 “How many arrested?” John asked. Another officer looking slightly less haggard as Parrish handed John a handful of case files as he and Parrish walked past the desk sergeant. John crudely weighed them by their weight in his hands. He shook his head and whistled low.

                “Yeah,” Parrish rubbed his weary eyes. “Took at least half the force to control the crowd before getting to the fight.”

                “Who the hell started it?” He opened the first file and wasn’t surprised to see Donnie Brent’s mugshot starring up at him. Donnie was a frequent flyer of the Beacon Hills jail; to the point where some of the deputies keep a cell open for him special. “Why am I not surprised?”

                “Actually boss,” Parrish drawled, opening the doors to the bull-pin.

               Lining the walls, handcuffed together, and sitting in plastic chairs, were the participants of the bar fights. There were at least ten badly beaten up, fully grown men groaning in pain and clutching their injuries. Towards the middle of the seated conga-line of misery was Donnie Brent. He had a bloody towel stuffed under his nose, held up by resting his head on his shoulder.

                “They were all on the receiving end of the fight.” Parrish finished. He turned the corner into a small hallway and began walking down to the small interrogation room and its observation room. Parrish kept his hand on the door knob to the observation room. “It’s the safest thing for everybody keeping them locked in here.”

                “It’s a small room, Parrish. How many you got crammed in there?” John asked.

               “Just the two.”

               Parrish turned the knob and let the door swing open. John walked in and through the plated window, he could clearly identify one of the men as Derek Hale. His normal grumpy expression was now exacerbated by his situation. His companion, on the other hand, had decided to take a nap, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. As if sensing someone was watching him, the second man lifted his head off the table.

                It was Peter Hale.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                After a strong cup of coffee and a brief word with Parrish and some of the other detainees, John walked into the interrogation room. Normally with a bar brawl, they’d through the aggressor and the participants into jail for a night, slap a fine on the aggressor and then send everyone home. No formal questions asked. Yet with a situation like the one he has here, with the Hale boys, John _needs_ to cover all his bases.

                In the interrogation room, Peter sat alone. Derek had been moved to the conference room.

                “Good Evening, Sherriff Stilinski. Or is it morning? Your hounds took away my watch when I let them drag me in here.”

                “Let them? You were under arrest for,” John made a show of opening his rather larger, collective case file. He turned to the most recent list of charges, “public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, destruction of public property, assault on…..twelve counts, resisting arrest, striking a police officer.”

                “Impressive.” Peter cocked his head to the side, a wolfish grin spreading over his face. “But I’ve been charged with better.”

                “Is this a game to you, Hale? See how many charges you collect before they won’t let you pass go, before they finally send you to prison? You and I both know prison would be a blood bath.”

                Peter leaned forward, his hands pressed down on the table, his face inches away from the microphone that was a permanent fixture on the table. In a low voice, he whispered, “And you says that isn’t what I want?”

                “If it’s not your freedom that you want - which frankly, strikes me as odd seeing as how you freedom should mean everything to you. Your freedom gives you power.”

                “Power,” Peter scoffed, he leaned back in his chair. “What power do you see, Sheriff?”

                “None.”

                Peter raised an eyebrow. “Thank you Sheriff for your unreserved honesty.”

                “You have no power and I’d like to keep it that way. Last time you _did_ have power, this town went to Hell in a hand basket.” John closed Peter’s case file. “But I’d also like to keep you out of prison. Your blood bath would lead straight back here. My first job is to protect those kids. If keeping you out of prison helps me do that, then I’ll do it.”

                “Stiles must be proud to have _you_ as a father.”

                John was silent at that. He doesn’t like discussing his family to this man. He knew that Peter and Claudia grew up here. It wasn’t until recently that he knew of Peter other than a case file. Given the size of Beacon Hills and the _supernatural_ quality of the town, they must’ve come in contact at some point. How close that contact was, John could only guess. And given that Peter was the first she ran to after waking up, to spare John an unwelcomed heart attack, he could only guess their contact was….close.

                “Why start the bar fight, Hale?” John sighed. He tapped his pen on the table.

                “I was drunk.” He glared at the pen. “Kind of wishing I still was.”

                “What about Derek? He’s a good kid when you’re not pulling him into things.”

                “My nephew got concerned for the town’s safety when the bartender called him to tell him where I was. Sasha’s an…old _friend_ of Derek’s. From High School.” Peter paused for John to speak, but he remained silent. “Derek was on his way and Sasha was walking me outside when the mouthy one, Donnie I think his friend called him, started getting handsy with Sasha. I didn’t like it so I did something about it.”

                “A regular ‘warrior for women’.”

                “Not really. Sasha’s a good kid,” as an afterthought, he added, “even better in bed. If anyone’s gonna grab ass with her, it’s going to be me.”

                “Do you make a habit of sleep with your nephew’s friends?” John asked incredulously.

                “Let’s just say it wasn’t the first time. Derek had no shortage of friends in high school.”

                John sighed, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why get drunk? Were you drinking to remember? Or to forget?”

                “A bit of both, actually.” Peter looked away, down at his hands. A small, genuine smile crept on his face as he stared into space. Noticing that John was watching him, his smile turned cruel as he looked back at him. “Would you like to know, Sherriff?”

                John briefly nodded his head. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know by the look on Peter’s face, but he’ll hear it for now.

                Peter leaned forward in his chair, forearms resting on the table. His hands were still handcuffed, so he intertwined his fingers.

                “I can’t get her out of my head. Her voice, her laugh. The way she _smells,_ like lavender and the sweetest honey; the way she _feels,_ soft and creamy; the way she says screams my name when we’re alone, connected by our bodies. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. When I am asleep and when I am alone in my darkest hours, I think of her. Of her hands in my hair, stroking my body; of her lips on my skin, like fire.”

                “It’s her you’re drinking to forget…” John said softly. Whoever this woman was to him, she must have been something special to make a madman even more unhinged. John once had the same feelings towards Claudia after her death, which lead him into his heavy drinking. If Peter wasn’t careful, he’d fall down the same rabbit hole. The town would really be screwed if something like that happened.

                “No. That I drink to remember.”

                “Then what are you trying to forget?”

                John wore he saw a spark of malice in Peter’s eyes, but it was gone before he could register it. Peter continued.

                “It was the night of the Super Storm. Do you remember it, Sheriff? I bet you were quite busy.”

                “I was.” John nodded.

                “So was I.” For a moment the spark was back. “The storm was hitting hard. We were told to stay indoors, for safety. She should have listened….” Peter’s voice was soft, warning. “She wanted to get home, but her car wasn’t working. She knew her husband was working, helping those who needed him more, so she didn’t call him. I knew she would be alone.”

                “This woman, she was married?”

                “Oh yes, Sheriff. She was. But I didn’t care.” There was a sadness in his voice. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “The rain was too thick to see through, so she couldn’t see me. I pulled her into an abandoned warehouse. She said what her husband didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him as she wrapped her legs around my waist. She screamed my name, over and over again. She was louder than the thunder that shook the building. I thought I was going to go deaf between the two. It seemed to go on for eternity, losing ourselves in each other. I don’t know how long we were together, but when it was over she wanted more. So I gave her more.”

                John tried not to squirm in his chair with Peter’s descriptive retelling of his exploits with a married woman. Instead, he sat still and quietly clicked his pen.

                “Husband must not have been better than you for her to cheat on him with you of all people.”

                “I don’t know, Sheriff.” Peter leaned back in his chair. The wolfish smile returning to his face. “Am I better than you?”

                John stopped clicking his pen. He wasn’t sure about what he just heard. “Excuse me?”

               “Tell me, John.” Peter leaned in closer, his voice dropping to match his deadly grin. “How does it feel to have my son call you ‘daddy’?”


	11. Chapter 10

**AN:// Because you guys have been wondering, I’ve based Claudia Stilinski off of Holly Marie Combs. Go figure, she’d be the PERFECT Claudia.**

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

**SCOT’S BEDROOM**

Stiles woke with a start, sitting up in bed. He grabbed his chest, groping at his heart, sure it was beating out of his chest. The shirt he slept in was covered in sweat. His breathing was erratic. He felt like he was suffocating; he couldn’t get enough air to his lungs.

            After a couple minutes of near death, he finally collapsed back on the inflatable mattress. He was still clutching in chest and gasping for breath, but everything was returning to normal slowly. He glanced up to see Scott snoring loudly with drool slipping out of his mouth and onto his pillow. Stiles turned away and stared up at the ceiling.

            He had been having that dream – Peter confronting John at the station house – for the past week; since his mother confirmed John as his father with a blood scrying. Being a slight pessimist, he automatically thought that the scrying was faulty. Couldn’t Peter just as likely be at the station house? It was a bar fight after all. Peter never really passed up a chance to beat the shit out of people. With how much certainty could that spell be accurate? Could Claudia, a more experienced witch, manipulate the spell to show Stiles what he wanted to see rather than the truth?

            All these thoughts and speculations nagged at Stiles. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing that nightmare; he felt absolute disgust when Malia kissed him, unsure on whether or not to kiss her back; he couldn’t talk to his mom without envisioning her as Peter’s personal prostitute in the apartment he paid for.

            He didn’t want to think about any of that anymore. He wanted his life to b like it was before his mother rose from the dead – werewolves and constant death. Sometimes, those two don’t seem as bad with philandering parents, home wrecking lies, and witches mixed in.

            Hearing noise and the smell of bacon drifting up from downstairs, Stiles decided it was time to get up. He threw back the covers and rolled out of bed.

**KITCHEN**

            When Scott walked in, yawning and ruffling his hair, Stiles and Melissa were putting invitations inside envelopes.

            “What’s going on?”

            “Good morning to you too, Sunshine,” Stiles said licking an envelope. Thank goodness there weren’t that many because he was starting to fear getting a paper cut on his tongue. He put a stamp on it and placed it in the small ‘finished’ pile.

            “They’re invitations to Isaac’s birthday party.” Melissa said. She stuffed another invitation into an envelope, wrote the address on it and handed it to Stiles.

           “What birthday party?” Scott asked. He opened the fridge to pull out the milk carton.

            “The _surprise_ birthday party we are having.” Melissa said. “Dishes in the dishwasher are clean.”

            Scott pulled away from the cupboard and walked over to the dishwasher. “Well it won’t be a surprise for long because he’s coming down the stairs.”

            “Way to bury the lead,” Stiles hissed as he and Melissa scrambled to collect all the materials and put them in her purse. Outside the kitchen, they heard footsteps padding down the stairs. Scott having wolf senses, he knew in advance. He smiled at their haste.

            “And don’t forget to pick something up,” Melissa told both Stiles and Scott, waving her finger at them.

            “What are we picking up?” Isaac asked as he walked in. His sleeping pants were more colorful than Scott’s plain Navy Blue, decorated with Bugs Bunny and carrot sticks. He opened the fridge and pulled out a leftover steak from last night.

            “Groceries from the store.” Melissa pulled out a list of items and a small snack-bag of money. She put them on the island counter. She sighed at Isaac. “And that is not breakfast, Isaac McCall.”

            “Anything’s breakfast if you want it to be,” Isaac answered with a smile as he put the steak in the microwave. Isaac couldn’t help but feel warmly elated by being called ‘McCall’. With every passing day, he felt more like Scott’s brother and Melissa’s son rather than a pack mate and a ward.

            “At least eat some fruit with it.” Melissa suggested.

            Scott picked up an orange and chucked it at the back of Isaac’s head. Thanks to his wolfish reflexes, he was able to catch it without turning around. Stiles wasn’t paying them any attention as he went back to eating his now soggy cereal. The pack was always throwing things at each other, trying to catch the other off guard at the chance for a cheap laugh. The only time it worked was with Stiles and Lydia, the only pack members without unnatural reflexes. Lately, as Stiles gained slow control over his powers, it was down to Lydia.

            Melissa rolled her eyes, happy that they at least weren’t skipping breakfast like usual, and grabbed her purse.

            “You’re working today?” Scott asked, finally noticing his mom in her scrubs.

            “Unlike my boys,” She kissed them on the cheek as she passed them, “some of us have to work weekends.”

            “I’m not on the schedule today.” The microwave beeped and Isaac carefully pulled out his steak. Over the summer, he found a job working as a bus-boy for Keating’s, a diner in town. Before Melissa adopted him, he wanted to help ‘pull his weight’ around the house.

            “Clinic’s closed on Sundays,” Scott added.

            “And I don’t work….” Stiles muttered into his cereal bowl.

            “Lucky you,” Melissa grabbed Stiles’ head and planted a kiss in his hair. She ruffled his hair as she walked out.

            “Bye mom!” Scott and Isaac chorused after her. Stiles waved because he had cereal stuffed into his mouth.

            “Bye kids!” She yelled back before the front door closed behind her.

**CHINATOWN**

**SACRAMENTO**

            Sacramento being the closest city to Beacon Hills that doesn’t have the supernatural lurking around, Stiles gathered the available crew into his jeep and headed out. Soon, an afternoon that was meant for shopping for Isaac quickly turned into an afternoon of Stiles carrying around Lydia and Kira’s bags as they hopped from store to store.

            “Guys,” Stiles prompted for the countless time, “we’re here for Isaac. Remember Isaac? The wolf pup that’s been kicked a few times?”

            Lydia rolled her eyes. “We’re getting in the gift-giving mood.”

            “By spending all your money?”

            “BY helping the local economy.” She smiled over her shoulder. Stiles couldn’t help but smile back, as strained as it was.

            “And what are we doing in Chinatown?”

            Around them, tacky Chinese music played from various store fronts. Above them, banners and paper lanterns connected the stores, almost creating a false ceiling. Looking around a bit while they were stopped in the square, Stiles noticed a gaunt, elderly man leaning on a stick, a straw hat with a wide brim pulled down over his face. He looked like a rice field worker. In Sacramento? He was probably the store owner and wanted to drum up some business.

            “Because-” Lydia was about to answer but Kira popped up out of the crowd.

            “Because my mom gave me a shopping list. She said that since we’d be close, she wouldn’t have to make the trip herself.” She handed her bags to Stiles with an innocent smile.

            “Don’t you have a boyfriend, who is wolfishly stronger than me, to do this for you?”

            “Scott and Isaac are grocery shopping.” Kira reminded him. As they walked through the crowded, narrow walkways of Chinatown, she gave him a rundown of where the Pack was spending their Sunday. “Malia is training with Derek. And the three of us are shopping.”

            “And Jackson conveniently left for England?” He peered around Kira to look at Lydia. She shrugged. Stiles shook his head. “Are you guys done pre-shopping so we can actually do what we came here for?”

            “Yes,” the girls droned out in unison. They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

            “I saw that-” Suddenly, a man forcefully knocked into Stiles from behind. If it wasn’t for the extra baggage (pun intended) he would have actually hurt the girls when he fell forward into them. Lydia and Kira both caught him, but stumbled slightly. Regaining his balance, Stiles turned around angrily. “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

            The man that knocked into him froze and his eye widened in surprise. He was the same height as Stiles, but a little bit older – college age, maybe. Under his black blazer, he wore a brown sweater and khaki pants. He was Asian-American; Stiles couldn’t tell Chinese from Japanese from Korean. His black hair was rakishly spiked. He was attractive in a John Cho kind of way.

            “Y-You can see me?” He asked tentatively.

            “Of course we can see you, jackass,” Lydia said, stepping forward and planting a hand on her hip. “You just knocked over my friend!”

            “Both of you…” The man smiled. He closed his eyes in relief and sighed. When he opened them, they could see the happiness in his eyes. “I have tried communicating with every physic in Chinatown. You are the first people that can actually _see_ me!”

            Kira stepped forward with a confused look, but she wasn’t looking at the strange man. She was looking at Lydia and Stiles.

            “Guys…” She glanced at where they were looking, but she didn’t see anyone but the crowded street. “Who are you talking to?”

            “This bozo right here,” Stiles waved his hand at where the man was standing. Kira obligingly looked at where the man supposedly was, but she still couldn’t see anything. The man looked from Kira to Stiles and Lydia then back.

            “She can’t see me. I-It’s like everyone else I’ve been trying to talk to. They can’t see me!”

            Lydia was becoming more concerned as the conversation went on. She pulled on Stiles’ sleeve. “Come on,” she reached over and took Kira’s arm, pulling her with her. “Let’s go.”

            “Wait!” The man called after them as Lydia lead them away. Stiles made sure the girls walked in front of him and kept up the speedy pace to get away from the man as soon as possible. “Wait! I know you can hear me.”

            “What’s going on with you two?” Kira asked.

            “I have no idea and I don’t want to stick around to find out.” Lydia refused to look over her shoulder as they walked on through Chinatown.

           The group turned here and there, sometimes going off the path. It took nearly ten minutes for Lydia to feel like they comfortably lost him. They were standing on a sidewalk, not sure where they were but knowing it was out of Chinatown.

            “Okay, stop,” Kira said. She gently took her arm away from Lydia. She took a step back so she could talk to them both easily. “Tell me what happened back there.”

            “You were there, Kira. You know what happened.” Stiles said.

            “Yeah, but apparently what I saw didn’t quite mesh with what you two saw.”

            Lydia nervously glanced up at Stiles before turning back to Kira. “You saw him, right?”

            “Saw who?”

            “That Asian guy, looked like he was a college student or something.” Stiles said, shifting the bag in his arms so they wouldn’t fall. “He bumped into me and then started saying some weird things about physic and how Lydia and I were the only people that could see him.”

            Kira’s mouth had slightly dropped, unknown to her. “And all that happened while I was standing next to you?”

            “Yeah…” Lydia said softly. She was beginning to get a bad feeling about the whole situation.

            “Whoever he was, he was right. I couldn’t see him.” After a moment, a smile stretched across her lips. “You know what that means, right?”

            Stiles brow furrowed. “That Lydia caught my crazy?”

            “No!” She gently hit his arm. “You just met a ghost!”

            “Come again?” Lydia asked.

            “A ghost! You and Stiles are the only people seeing this guy – a banshee and a witch. You can see him, talk to him, even bump into him. He’s a ghost.”

            “Why are you happy about this?” Stiles asked, astounded by her behavior.

            “We never get ghosts in Beacon Hills. This is a cool first, you have to admit.”

            “Not from where I’m standing,” The man reappeared seemingly out of nowhere behind Kira. Stiles dramatically jumped, the shopping bags spluttering to the ground. He clutched his heart and tried to remember how to breathe as Kira and Lydia picked up the bags.

            “He’s here?” Kira whispered.

            “You don’t have to whisper. I _can_ hear you.” He glanced down at Kira.

            “Well she can’t,” Lydia said. She stood up, and for once she was holding her own bags. “What do you want?”

            “I need your help. You’re the only ones that can help me,” he pleaded.

            “Thanks, but I don’t want to relive The Ghost Whisperer.” Stiles sarcastically quipped. “That was enough of a let-down.”

            “You ain’t exactly Jennifer Love Hewitt. I’ll take what I can get.” The man shot back. Lydia had to stifle a snort. “I’m begging you. I need your help, I was murdered last night.”

            “How can I believe that when I’m talking to you right now?” Stiles waved his hand at him.

            The man rolled his eyes. “Says the person talking to someone his friend and the rest of the world can’t see. What’d your friend say I was? A ghost?”

            “Her name is Kira,” Lydia said.

            Hearing her name, she perked up. “What? Did he ask about me?” She looked around where they were talking and still couldn’t see anything. “What’s he saying?”

            Stiles ignored her. “Where were you supposedly murdered?”

            “Back in Chinatown. I can prove it.” After some notable silence and Stiles and Lydia sharing skeptically worried glances, the man sighs. His resolve is viably melting. “I’m desperate. I don’t know what else to do. You gotta help me.”

            Stiles was about to say something along the lines of ‘get lost’. He wanted to spend his Sunday worrying about birthday presents and surprise parties and the history paper he’s been neglecting for the past week, not pushy Asian ghosts. Part of him wanted to believe the man wasn’t actually a ghost, but a prankster; that Kira was somehow involved. Because she was also Asian? Sometimes, Stiles’ mind was inadvertently racist.

It was a problem he was working on.

            But before he could say anything, a bike messenger came peddling swiftly down the sidewalk. He had enough time to yell, “Watch out!” and pull his friends away before the messenger was speeding past –

            A speeding right through the man who claimed he was a ghost.

            Stiles and Lydia both stood there, shocked at what they saw. The man, just as perplexed as they were, lightly patted himself to make sure he was still in one piece. He turned to them and gestured after the bike messenger.

            “Now do you believe me?”

**LATER**

Before going off in search of their ghost friend’s body, whose name was…. _is_ ….Kim, they dropped off the shopping bags in Stiles’ jeep. Kira stayed behind, too. She figured if she couldn’t see or hear the guys, she wouldn’t be of much use. Plus, someone had to phone Scott and tell him what was going on.

            Kim took them into the more ‘local’s only’ part of Chinatown; the part where two lily-white American teenagers were noticed. Kim told them not to worry about anything; that as long as they were with him, nothing would happen. The only flaw was that no one else could see Kim.

            “Thank you,” Kim said again to Lydia. Stiles was leading the way through the back alley of some shops while Kim and Lydia brought up the rear. “For helping me.”

            “I guess we kind of have to.” She looked up at him. “Seeing as how we’re the only ones you can talk to.”

            “Shouldn’t we be going to the morgue or something?” Stiles asked. He stopped and waited for the others to catch up. “You said you were murdered. Why aren’t there any cops?”

            “Chinese people are naturally anti-police. Most of them are immigrants or first generation American. They thought of the police interfering in their lives, their community, brings up bad feelings.”

            “How much further?” Lydia asked.

            Kim pointed a head. “Not much.”

            As they started walking again, Lydia noticed Kim checking his watch. “Late for something?”

            “You could say that,” Kim chuckled darkly. When he looked at her, it was part worry, part sorrow. “I just need someone to find my body before it’s too late.”

            “I think it’s too late already, Kimmy,” Stiles said.

            Kim glared at Stiles’ back. “It’s an old Chinese myth. At least I always thought it was a myth. It's called Thowhoi, when the gates of hell open.” He glanced up at a white sign with red Chinese lettering hanging above a stoop. “We're almost there.”

            “The gates of hell?” Lydia asked. “I don’t understand.”

            “If the gatekeeper, Yama, catches my soul before my body is properly buried, he’ll take me to hell. Forever.”

            “But you said you were murdered.” Stiles asked over his shoulder. “How can-”

            “Yama doesn’t discriminate.”

            “Equal opportunity offender,” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Classy guy.”

            Kim turned to Lydia. “He doesn’t care about good or evil. Right or wrong. He just wants souls.”

            Lydia wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and walked right into Stiles. He stood in the center of the alley, stock still and staring down at something on the ground. Lydia could tell by the purposefully blank and withdrawn expression on his face that it was something bad. She stepped around him to look –

            She covered her mouth immediately to stifle a gasp. She took a step back. Caught between a dumpster and absolute filth, whatever was left of Kim Lee was an extra crispy, charred body; his flesh and other internal organs liquefied and adhering to the ground.

            “Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin,” Kim sighed. “I’d like you to meet me.”

            “Sorry man,” Stiles put a hand on Kim’s shoulder. It was the first time Stiles had been anything but sarcastic and rude.

            Down the alley, emerging from the fog and air conditioned blown dust, was a man in traditional Chinese warrior dress mounted on horseback. In one hand he held the horse’s reins, and in the other was a spear long enough to give Vlad the Impaler an erection. He began galloping towards them.

            “Yama…” Kim whispered.

            “Yama?” Stiles asked, turning around.

The horse was picking up speed. Yama, lowered his spear to mimic a jouster. Stiles feverishly looked around for something to knock Yama off his high horse with, but there was nothing like that around.

            “Why aren’t you running?” Lydia all but yelled at Kim. She grabbed his arm and began pulling him away.

            “It’s too late…” Kim said, resigned. He ripped his arm from Lydia’s grip and instead pushed her along. “Go! Go before he hurts you.”

            “Can we keep the negativity down?” Stiles asked. “No one needs to be dragged to hell tonight.”

            “Stiles, do something.” Lydia looked up at him. Yama was getting closer, they could smell the death and decay radiating off of him. She shook his arm. “Do something!”

            Out of fear, he raised his hands. He didn’t know if they would decide to work or not, but he had to give his powers a shot before they all were impaled. He squinted his eyes slightly and flicked his hands at Yama. He didn’t quite know how to use his hands to activate his power, but he thought Michael Fassbinder’s rendition of Magneto was pretty useful. Yama was safely frozen, his horse kicked up in mid-air.

            Kim, who had clasped his hands together, contracted his body, and closed his eyes, finally opened one of them and began to relax. “What just happened?”

            “I’m a good witch, remember?” Stiles panted softly.

“But how?”

“I don’t know. I panic, put up both hands, and….and bad things tend to freeze.”

            “For how long…” Kim was already beginning to walk backwards slowly away from Yama.

            “Not very,” Stiles turned and began jogging away. “Let’s go.”

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

“Isaac you can’t do this,” Scott said as he walked in, unannounced.

            “I can and I am.” Isaac said defiantly, shutting the front door behind him.

            “Can’t do what?” Malia asked. She was sitting on the couch in her sweats, eating a bowl of chocolate-chip ice cream, and trying to decipher math with Kira’s help.

            “The surprise party is off,” Isaac announced. He stepped around Kira, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Malia, and dropped into the arm chair.

            “What party?” Kira asked innocently enough.

            “He knows,” Scott bent down to quickly kiss Kira before sitting down next to Malia on the couch. “The restaurant called the house while I was taking a shower.”

            “Now it won’t be a surprise party.” Malia spooned some ice cream into her mouth. “Now it’s just a party.”

            “But I don’t want a _party_.” Isaac emphasized. He leaned forward and motioned for the ice cream. Malia passed the bowl down to Kira who leaned forward to hand it to Isaac. He shoveled in two spoonfuls and handed it back. He licked ice cream off the corner of his mouth as he leaned back. “It’s just a birthday. Nothing special.”

            “Says the person who’s alive to actually celebrate one,” Kim commented bitterly as he walked down the stairs a head of Stiles and Lydia.

            “Don’t take your death out on him,” Stiles said.

            The pack looked over at Stiles. “What?” Scott asked.

            Stiles looked from Kim to Scott. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

            “Who are these guys?” Kim moved to the edge of the living room, waving at the crowd.

            “This is my pack. Scott’s our Alpha and a werewolf,” Scott waved in Stiles’ general direction. Stiles went around the room introducing the members and their _species._

            Derek walked out of the kitchen with a plate of pizza in his hand and half a slice hanging out of his mouth.

            “Mal, where’d you say the paper was?” Derek asked walking _through_ Kim and taking a seat in the armchair beside Isaac. Lydia squirmed uncomfortably. Kim look annoyed.

            “And the asshole that walked through you is Derek, also a werewolf.”

            Derek looked up at space he just walked through and saw no one there. “That cold spot was the ghost?”

            “ _The ghost_ has a name.” Kim said.

            “His name is Kim,” Lydia told Derek. She sat on the arm of Isaac’s chair.

            “Hi Kim,” a couple people muttered in unison. Derek swallowed what he was chewing and half-heartedly apologized.

            “Been a ghost long?” Isaac asked. His eyes were darting around the entry of the living room, not sure where to talk to.

            “Kim was murdered and his corpse set on fire last night.” Stiles said. Everyone winced slightly.

            “On my birthday.” Kim added.

            “On his birthday,” Lydia told the group. She looked from his back to the group. “He needs our help.”

            “How come you two are the only ones able to see him?” Scott asked.

            “I’m a witch and Lydia’s a banshee.” Stiles shrugged. “That’s all I can think of.”

            “I guess being able to predict death makes me able to see what comes after it.”

            “Maybe we should call your mom,” Malia suggested. She stuck out her spoon and began waving it around. Stiles and Lydia saw the spoon wave through Kim’s stomach with ease. Kim sighed and stepped back.

            “We’re not calling my mom,” Stiles said adamantly. Lydia kicked his shin. “At least not yet. Let’s see what we can do before we call in the Calvary.”

            “What can your mom do?” Kim asked.

            “Besides raise herself from the dead, I’m willing to bet a whole lot.” Seeing the hopeful expression on Kim’s face, Stiles added, “That was a one-time thing. Don’t get excited.”

            “On the phone, Kira said something about you guys being chased by a ghost hunter?” Isaac asked. He tried not to smile at how ridiculous that sounded.

            “Yeah, Yama.” Lydia said. “He’s this….thing….in full samurai armor riding a horse. He carries this lance to impale ghosts with to drag them to hell. He can’t be bargained with and he doesn’t discriminate. If you’re a ghost, you are going with him.”

            “How do we know this guys doesn’t really deserve to go to hell?” Derek asked. “You’ve known him, for what, a couple hours?”

            “Hey!” Kim yelled.

            Lydia glanced between the two. “You offended him.”

            “My point still stands.”

            “Remember what my mom said when I first got my powers, that there would be ‘innocents’ I’d have to protect from evil? That _we’d_ have to protect?” Stiles waved at Kim. “That fact I can see him makes me think he’s one of those innocents.”

            “Protect from what? He’s dead.” Scott said. Derek gestured at Scott, nodding his head.

            “Look,” Kim said, stepping forward, “all I’m asking is for help getting back to my family for a proper burial. Then I’ll be able to move on.”

            Lydia, Kim’s messenger, spoke for him. “We need to get his body back to his family for burial. Then he’ll move on.”

            “So call your dad. Let him handle it.” Malia spooned some more ice cream.

            “This was in Sacramento; Dad has no jurisdiction there.” Stiles rubbed his face. “But I did call the local P.D. We’re just giving them enough time to notify Kim’s mom before we talk to her.”

            “Talk to her?” Isaac repeated. He turned in the chair to look at Stiles full-on. “And tell her what? That you’re talking to the ghost of her dead son?”

            “I’m with Isaac on that one,” Scott said reluctantly.

            “We just want her to bury her son as soon as possible before Yama finds him.”

            “When are you going to talk to her?” Kira asked.

            Stiles looked at Kim. “Around four should be good.”

            “Right after school,” Stiles answered.

            The back door opened with a click. “Stiles? Malia?” John called from the kitchen.

            “In here, Dad!” Stiles called back over his shoulder. He turned to the group. “Not a word about Kim, alright? He’s got enough on his mind without adding ghosts and ancient soul collectors to the mix.”

            “Is he like you or,” Kim pointed a thumb at the pack, “like them?”

            “Neither; human.”

            John came around the corner and was slightly surprised by the gathering in his living room. “Am I interrupting something?”

            “No, we were just leaving.” Scott stood up. He reached down and pulled Kira off the ground. Scott patted John’s back as he walked by. “See ya Sheriff.”

            Everyone else either nodded or waved on their way out the door. Derek handed his empty plate to Stiles. Malia was right behind him. Confused, Stiles followed her to the door.

            “Hey, where’re you going?”

            She pulled her jacket on and stuffed her feet into her shoes carelessly, the backs of her sneakers bending under her heels. “I’m crashing with Derek tonight.”

            “You are?” Derek asked, turning around on the sidewalk.

            “Yeah,” she told him. She turned back to Stiles. “I’m not really comfortable sleeping near a ghost. Can’t see him, can’t fight him. Weirds me out.”

            “You’ll be upstairs and he’ll be on the couch. There’s a _whole_ staircase and a couple doors between you.”

            Malia picked up her bag and kissed Stile’s cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

            She trotted down the front stairs and to Derek’s car. Derek shrugged apologetically to Stiles before following her. Stiles stood in the doorways and watched everyone drive off before heading back inside. Kim and Lydia were still in the living room.

            “You’re dad went upstairs. I told him I was going to stick around for a while to work on Math.”

            “Alright,” Stiles sighed. “I’m making dinner. You guys want anything?”

            Kim arched his eyebrow. “Dude, I’m dead.”

            “Right….” Stiles awkwardly snapped his finger and pointed at Kim. “Sorry.”

**LATER**

Kim sat on the edge of the couch, leaning over the coffee table in front of him. Slowly, he reached out one finger to press the power button on the remote. He tried this for several minutes, but got the same result – his finger would pass through the remote.

            He heard footsteps trotting down the stairs. He turned and saw Lydia with a bundle of blankets in her hands and a pillow on top. Lydia saw Kim’s broken expression.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “It's still new to me. I keep forgetting I'm….” He trailed off. He wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he was dead. He knew he was, he just didn’t want to come to terms with it just yet. He shrugged off the through and stood up, noticing what Lydia ad in her hands. “Are those for me?”

            “Yeah.” Lydia chuckled. “Uh, stupid question….do ghosts sleep?”

            “I don’t even get cold anymore,” Kim quietly smiled.

            “Sorry,” Lydia muttered. She gently laid the blankets and pillow on the armchair next to her.

            “It's okay, it's the thought that counts.” Kim smiled, but Lydia could tell it was strained. “I guess it's finally sinking in, what's really happened, what I've lost.” He sat back down on the couch. “No more sucking down a bucket of oysters at the wharf, playing pickup ball with friends, coming home and hearing my mother's voice on the machine nagging me 'cause I haven't married a nice Chinese girl.”

            Lydia smiled and sat down next to Kim. “Your mom means a lot to you.”

            “She’s a great friend.” He rubbed his hands together, rolling his eyes. “ _Was_.” They sat in silence for a moment while Kim collected his thoughts. “It was just me and her after my father died. Taught me everything I know. Especially how to cook. My mum was a _great_ cook.”

            “Stiles’ mom is a _fantastic_ cook.” Lydia nodded with a smile. “My parents always used her to cater a dinner party or a holiday event or just a backyard barbeque. Anything you could think of, she could make and it would turn out better then you imagined. Even after her death – the first one – my mom would talk about ‘Claudia Stilinski’s cooking’ nearly every holiday.” Lydia laughed. “Probably because one of us ended up burning dinner.”

            Kim laughed. “Have you ever made a Peking duck?”

            “No.”

            “Good.” Kim’s laughing became harder and Lydia motioned to slap him but he threw his hands up in jest.

**MONDAY EVENING**

**MRS. CHAO’S HOME**

            “Are you sure about this?” Stiles asked. He had asked that question over and over again on the ride over here. Lydia undid her seat belt and opened the passenger door.

            “Positive.”

            Stiles glanced up in the rear view mirror at Kim. Kim shrugged and followed Lydia out of the Jeep. Lydia shut the door and leaned in through the open window.

            “I’ll be back in a little bit. There’s no need to worry.”

            “Worry?” Stiles scoffed. “There’s a harmless old lady-”

            “Watch it, Sabrina.” Kim snapped. “That’s my mother you’re talking about.”

            Stiles ignored Kim. “I just don’t think you should be doing this by yourself.”

            “I won’t be alone.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled reassuringly at Kim. She patted the Jeep and turned to walk up the sidewalk to Mrs. Chao’s home. It was a creamy egg-shell color with white doors and trim.

            To get all her nervous feelings out she shook her hands and rolled her neck.

            “Warming up?” Kim joked. He saw how nervous she was and softened his tone. “This will work. Just repeat everything I say. She’ll trust you that way.”

            Before Lydia could say something back, the front door opened and Mrs. Chao stepped out. She was a small woman, wrinkled with age and hard work. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, streaks of grey showing.

            “Can I help you?” She asked kindly.

            Lydia quickly glanced towards Kim before repeating his words, _“Nín hǎo. (_ Hello _). Wǒ de míngzì shì féi jiě,” (_ My name is Lydia). _Wǒ yào hé nǐ tán tán_. (I need to talk to you).”

            Mrs. Chao was taken aback. “ _Nǐ shuō zhōngguó huà_? (You speak Chinese?)”

                Lydia glanced towards Kim. “She asked if you spoke Chinese. Say-”

            “ _Bèi lì zī, tā shì guānyú jīn_. (Sort of, it’s about Kim),” Lydia repeated.

            Mrs. Chao took Lydia by the hands. “ _Nǐ zhīdào tā zài nǎlǐ?_ (You know where he is?)”

            Kim looked confused. “She…She asked if you know where I am.”

            “Wait,” Lydia said. “You….you don’t?”

            “No,” Mrs. Chao shook her head, close to tears. “I'm worried sick. I haven't heard from him since his birthday. That’s three days now.”

            “The police haven’t notified her yet?” Kim asked.

            “How’s that possible?” Lydia said slowly, answering both Kim and his mother. “I mean…that he hasn’t contacted you.”

            “It is not like Kim at all. He always calls.” She squeezed Lydia’s hand. “When did you last see him?”

            Lydia hesitated. She had no idea what to say.

            “Lydia,” Kim took a step closer. “Lydia you have to tell her where my body is!”

            Lydia glanced at Kim. Mrs. Chao looked, too, but only saw Stiles watching intensely from his jeep.            

            “I can’t,” Lydia whispered under her breath. Mrs. Chao looked at her. “I-I can’t remember when I last saw him. But if I see him, or hear from him, I’ll make sure he calls you.”

            Lydia gently pried her hands out of Mrs. Chao’s grip and walked down the small porch. Mrs. Chao’s thanks called after her as she made her way to the jeep.

            “You can’t walk away! You have to tell her!” Kim shouted at Lydia. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother open the front door and begin walking back into the house. “Mom, no!”

            Kim ran to the door, yet when he touched it, he was bounced back immediately. He landed at Lydia’s feet as she whirled around to see what happened. Lydia looked back up at the door and saw a small dragon medallion swinging from a hook beside the door, the dragon’s eyes glowing.

“The stories were true….” Kim mumbled as he stood up. “All the Chinese fairytales she told me growing up were true.”

            “But what does _that_ ,” Lydia pointed at the medallion, “mean?”

            “It means that I’m going to burn in hell.”

**NIGHT**

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

Lydia was trying to help Stiles with his English paper for the past hour. It wasn’t great, but it was getting there. Kim was helping, too. Although he _was_ majoring in biochemistry, he had a minor in English literature. Kim and Lydia were helping to the point where Stiles would right the basic, rough draft and they would critique and fix it paragraph by paragraph until it was passable.

            When Stiles’ phone chirped, he didn’t feel bad answering it. It wasn’t like he was writing a paper.

            “Hello,” Stiles greeted, yet it came out more like ‘yellow’.

            “ _Turn on the news,”_ Kira hurriedly demanded.

            “What?”

            “They found Kim’s body!”

            Stiles awkwardly juggled the phone while standing up in a spastic burst of energy. Kim and Lydia both looked extremely concerned when he launched himself over them, landing on his stomach in front of the TV. He reached up and slammed his hand on the ‘on’ button on the base. John always kept the living room TV tuned to the news, so Stiles didn’t have to flip through channels.

            “ _Although police report that the body was burned beyond recognition..._ ” The female reporter’s voice drifted through the room.

            Kim stiffened when the camera man moved to get a better angle of the body, zooming in past the police and yellow tape. Lydia turned to smile at Kim and saw him close his eyes and lean back into the couch, sighing with relief.

            “It’s finally over.”

            “ _From personal affects found at the scene, preliminarily identify him as Mark Wen, head of the Chinatown triad in San Francisco.”_ A mug shot of Mark Wen appeared on the screen. He looked like he could have been Kim’s cousin, their facial bone structure was so similar. “ _Wen fled San Francisco Police custody earlier this week. Prior to finding his body in Sacramento, he was believed to be headed to Los Angeles.”_

“That-That can't be,” Kim stood up and pointed angrily at the television. “That's the guy who killed me!”

            “So he’s still alive,” Stiles mused. Before he could finish, Kim cut in.

            “Of course he’s alive! That’s _my_ body they found!” He huffed and collapsed back onto the sofa. He shook his head, complete dismay filling his face.

            “Why would he want to kill you? Do you know him somehow?” Lydia asked.

            “Why, because all Chinese people know each other? That there’s only a handful of last names to go around?”

            “Don’t get snippy,” Stiles said. He grabbed an M&M from the small dish by his text book and threw it at Kim. Kim glared at him when it passed through.

            Lydia positioned herself so Kim could see how sincere she was. “All I’m suggesting is that he’d have to have a reason to kill you. He just fled police custody and was in hiding. I don’t think he had a random urge to burn someone’s corpse.”

            “Lydia’s got a point. Maybe he killed you to steal your identity? You two do look alike.”

            “That’s racist.” Kim pointed out.

            “Okay, Wen is alive and using your name to most likely leave the country. News of his death probably hasn’t spread that far yet so he’d want to stay local to Sacramento for now, since there’s no one looking for him there.” Lydia had thought this through. “Is there any place you can think of in Chinatown that could be a ‘safe harbor’ to a guy like Wen? Or maybe has importing/exporting business that would require them to ship large containers?”

            After a moment, Kim’s eyes widened. “There is one place that’s Triad friendly – Warhai. The owner’s nephew is a member. Mr. Wo is an antique dealer, so he’s always down at the docks with his truck.”

            “Perfect!” Stiles jumped up, a smile on his face. “We go there tonight-”

            “Whoa there, Skippy,” Lydia grabbed his arm. “There is _no_ way we could do _anything_ tonight.”

            “Why not?” Both Kim and Stiles asked.

            Lydia waved her hand to the TV screen where the reporter was still talking. “The news will be crawling all over the place. And Wen would be _more_ cautious right now than ever.”

            “So, what’s your plan?” Kim asked.

Lydia tossed Stiles his phone. It had fallen by her feet in his haphazard attempt to turn on the TV. “Call Scott. Tell him what we know. After school tomorrow, we’ll head to the warehouse looking for Wen. We could use the werewolf backup while the three of us find Wen.”

“And what happens when we find him?” Stiles asked.

Lydia looked mildly concerned. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

**TUESDAY EVENING**

**WARHAI ANTIQUES WAREHOUSE**

Luckily the whole pack didn’t tag along, just Scott and Kira, because they would have been seriously let down. There were two men patrolling the outside – one on ground level and the other on the second floor walk-way. From what Scott could hear, there were four men inside.

            Kira and Scott easily took out the two patrols quietly in a matter of minutes. Their unconscious bodies were tied up and tucked away for their friends to find _after_ they left.

            “So,” Scot said, jumping down from the second floor walkway. He had made a secondary sweep of the outside to make sure they were alone. “What’s the plan?”

            “Uh,” Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the warehouse and then at Lydia and Kim. “We go inside.”

            “What’s with the newspaper?” Kira asked.

            Lydia rolled the paper nervously in her hands. “Stiles is going to freeze Mark Wen long enough so we can get a picture of him with today’s paper.”

            “Then we turn the picture over to the police-”

            “Anonymously.” Kim interrupted Stiles.

            “Anonymously,” Stiles gritted his teeth and repeated what Kim said for the rest of the group. “And the cops will handle it from there.”

            “Nice plan,” Scott commented. “If your powers decide to work.”

            “Hey, don’t be such a Debbie Downer, alright?” Stiles lightly shoved Scott aside to reach into the back of his jeep to retrieve his baseball bat. Scott smiled.

            “Kira and I will follow, make sure you don’t get your asses kicked.”

            “Well,” Kira smiled up at Scott, “not _too_ much.”

            Lydia rolled her eyes and Stiles mimicked Kira like a child would. Kim was growing impatient. “Can we go now? Or do you want to waste more time while my killer enjoys my life?”

            “Ghosty is getting upset,” Stiles said. He patted Scott’s shoulder as he, Lydia, and Kim walked into the warehouse. Scott kept his eye on his watch. One minute and he and Kira would enter.

            The warehouse was like a maze of old junk – some boxed up and labeled in Chinese script while others were left lying around with only paper tags loosely attached. It took five minutes for them to find their way towards the back of the warehouse where Kim said there would be a staircase.

            Halfway up the staircase, Kim stopped.

            “What is it?” Lydia asked, turning to him.

            “They've got an amulet on the door; I can't go in.”

            Stiles walked up the last two steps to unhook the amulet from its hook. He rolled it up and shoved it in his pocket. “Not anymore.”

            Stiles took a moment to collect himself at the door. Lydia stepped onto the small landing next to him. Kim stood a couple steps behind them.

            Lydia touched his arm. “Scared?”

            “Terrified.” Stiles smiled.

            Lydia smiled back. “Good.”

            Kim looked at them strangely. “How is any of this good?”

            Lydia ignored him. She kept her eyes fixed solely on the door, her hand on the knob. “On the count of three. One….two….three!”

            She yanked the door open and Stiles rushed in, throwing his hands up. Squinting and jazz hands were an unconscious by-product of using his powers. Until he could control the freezing, he’d have to put up with it.

            The four men in the room froze where they were, confused and reaching for their weapons. Three of the thugs surrounded the desk where Mark Wen sat counting money. With the men frozen, Stiles waved in Lydia. She rushed to Wen, put the newspaper in his hands – with the headline ‘MARK WEN FOUND DEAD’ clearly readable – and snapped a picture with her phone.

            The men unfroze just as Lydia took the picture, it seemed.

            “Time to go!” Kim yelled.

            Stiles grabbed Lydia by the arm and dragged her out the door. They toppled over boxes and kicked furniture into the path behind them to block Wen and his men. Scott and Kira were already in the Jeep, the motor running. Kira was standing up in the passenger seat, yelling at them to move faster and waving her hand.

            Kira threw the door open for Lydia to hop in. Stiles gracelessly dove in after her. Somehow, Kim managed to stay with the jeep as Scott hit the gas before Stiles had a chance to close the door.

            Wen and his men ran out of the building, guns drawn and aiming at the blue jeep. They fired, but luckily – for John’s sake – nothing hit. Unknown to the getaway vehicle, Wen caught the license plate number and began furiously writing it down on the back of his hand.

**STILES’ JEEP**

With Kira and Scott up front and Lydia and Kim in the cramped back seat, there really wasn’t anywhere for Kim to sit….if he were alive, that is. Being a ghost is somewhat of a blessing when it comes to quick getaways in compact vehicles. Only Stiles was unnerved that Kim’s head was sticking out through the back of the Jeep, between Lydia and Stiles.

            Stiles had ignored Kim and Lydia’s talking for the most part of the ride and instead chastised Scott for his ‘reckless’ driving of the Jeep. Kira was trying not to giggle when she looked in the rearview mirror and saw Lydia animatedly talking to herself. She knew she was talking to Kim, but it was still funny to see.

            Lydia stopped talking after a while and began writing down something in the notes page in her phone. Stiles glanced over and saw what looked like a recipe.

            “What’s that?”

            “My grandfather's recipes. Or at least the really good ones I can remember. They've been serving these in my family's restaurant for decades. They're yours and Lydia’s now.”

            “But they belong in your family.” Stiles said softly, touched by what Kim was offering him. It wasn’t much on the whole scale of ‘returning a body back to its family’ and ‘saving a soul from hell’, but it was all Kim had to give.

            “That’s what I told him,” Lydia muttered without looking up from her phone.

            “I want you to have them. For everything you've done for me.” Kim was quiet for a moment before smiling and nodding at Scott. “I just ask one favor, use them for your friend’s surprise birthday party.”

“Isaac doesn't want a party.” Stiles said. “He hates surprises.”

**“** Birthdays are important. I know, I walked out of my last one and it never occurred to me that I wouldn't get another. He may not know it, but he needs to celebrate his birthday. We all do.” He glanced at Lydia and smiled. “Don't take it for granted.”

            “Who says I’m taking anything for granted?” She drawled, her perfectly manicured eyebrow raised.

            Kim shook his head and chuckled.

**LATER**

            After dropping off a copy of the photo, with Kim’s name identifying him as the corpse written on the back, to the police, the pack headed home. Scott dropped Kira off first before heading back to his house. Stiles was eager to get back behind the wheel. He smiled and cackled like a mad-man, rubbing the steering wheel affectionately.

            “Is he always like this?” Kim muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Lydia.

            “Unfortunately,” She sighed.

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

            When Stiles pulled into the driveway, there was an unfamiliar black sedan parked behind John’s sheriff patrol car.

            “Expecting company?” Lydia asked as she unfastened her seatbelt.

            Stiles shook his head. His brow furrowed as he got out of the jeep. He waved them back. “Wait here.”

            Kim and Lydia anxiously waited by the Jeep as Stiles opened his front door cautiously. They saw Stiles relax in the doorway. He turned and waved them over.

            “It’s my mom,” he said sheepishly. The tips of his ears were turning pink.

            Lydia tried hiding her smile, but when she looked at Kim, she couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

            “Haha, very funny,” Stiles mocked them as he went in, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat. “Make fun of the guy being cautious. It’s not like we just turned in a murder who faked his own death and not two hours ago was shooting at us.”

            “I do hope you’re kidding.” Claudia Cole turned the corner with a glass of wine in her hand. She was barefoot, wearing jeans and a pastel shirt. Her hair was lightly twisted into a messy bun. A very casual mom look that still showed how gorgeous she was.

            “Yeah, absolulty.” Stiels quickly said.

            “Just kidding.” Lydia nodded.

            “Bad joke.” Kim automatically said. He didn’t think Claudia would hear him, but when she turned to him with a smile, he was taken aback.

            “Bad joke indeed.” She shifted her wine glass to the other hand so she could shake hands with Kim. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stiles’ mom.”

            “K-Kim,” he stuttered out. Not thinking, he reached out his hand to shake hers. “Kim Chao.”

            When his hand passed through hers, he quickly yanked it back. His and everyone else’s eyes going wide. Except Claudia; she raised and eyebrow and turned her hand side to side.

            “A ghost, huh?” She looked back up at Kim with kindness and understanding. “How long?”

            “A couple days.” Kim gestured to Stiles and Lydia. “They’re helping me get my body back to my family before Yama drags me to hell.”

            “Mom, Yama is the Gatekeeper of Del Huoy, the opening to the gates of Chinese Hell. He is a soldier on horseback, glowing green eyes, captures souls by impaling them on his stick.” Stiles nervously rattled off. “Fun guy. Equal opportunity offender. I like it.”

            “I know who Yama is, baby.” Claudia said. Her voice grew stern as she spoke to Lydia and Stiles equally. “And I would have appreciated a call to inform me that he was riding around town. Anything spooky or supernatural related, I’m one of your first calls. Got it?”

            “Who else are we supposed to call?” Lydia asked.

            “Sheriff Stilinski, for starters. Perhaps Mrs. McCall at the hospital. Two people who really need to know what to look out for it they come across it.” She sighed. “Have you told your father about Mr. Chao?”

            “No…” Stiles said, looking away from his mother.

            “Hopefully Kim can get back to his family before we _have_ to tell your father. Next time-”

            “I’ll tell him.” Stiles finished her sentence.

            Claudia smiled. “Lydia, are you staying for dinner? I’m cooking.”

            She glanced from Stiles to his mom. “If it’s no trouble…”

Claudia pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen. “Go wash up before the Sheriff comes back down stairs and eats it all.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lydia said as they walked off to the kitchen. She was taking off her boots and hanging up her coat when suddenly the front door kicks open and three of Wen’s men barge in. They quickly grab Lydia, locking her feet and covering her mouth, and carry her out the door.

“Help! Somebody help!” Kim, helpless to do anything, yelled for help. “Stiles! Stiles, they’re taking Lydia!”

Claudia and Stiles ran into the foyer.

“What’s wrong?” Claudia asked, a butcher knife in hand. “What happened?”

“They took her,” He gestured to the broken front door. “Wen’s men took Lydia.”

            “They’re taking her to the warehouse!” Stiles growled. He picked up his shoes and fished his keys out of his pocket. He was running out the door as John was running down the stairs with his service gun drawn. He was sopping wet with white foaming shampoo in her hair wearing nothing but a towel.

            “Claudia! Stiles!” John yelled.

            “Sorry about the front door. I’ll explain later.” Claudia hurriedly said as she grabbed her jacket off the coat rack. “Rain check on dinner?”

            Kim and Claudia rushed out the door, leaving John in a bath towel in the broken doorway to watch them speed away.

**WARHAI ANTIQUES WAREHOUSE**

Mark Wen sat behind the desk, loading bullets individually into a gun. He made a point out of making the distinctive noise so that Lydia would know what he was doing. She was tied to a chair winging the desk.

            “The first time I saw you I thought you were a ghost.” Wen confessed.

            “Why did you kill Kim?”

            Wen cocked his gun as he stood up. He walked over to Lydia and yanked her hair, pulling her head back to look at him. She hated seeing that evil smirk on his face; grinning with rotting teeth.

            “Because I needed his identity.” His smile turned cruel as he pulled her hair harder. Lydia winced. “Who else knows I'm alive? I had plans. I had a boat ready to take me to Hong Kong. I had a whole new life and you screwed it all up.

**DOWN STAIRS**

Kim and Stiles led the way in. With her telekinetic powers, Claudia whisked any guards away with the flick of her wrist.

            Claudia and Stiles were waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Kim to return. She sent him up there to scout out the room. She refused to go in without knowing what they were walking into.

            Kim came down the stairs so fast, it looked as if he was floating. For all Stiles knows, he could have been.

            “They have her up stairs. Three men total. All carrying guns.” Kim’s eyes grew wide. He pointed behind them, yelling, “Look out!”

            Claudia turned in time to see a guard run in and point a semi-automatic weapon at them. His finger was squeezing the trigger as Claudia hurled him into a pile of painful-looking boxes.

**UPSTAIRS**

            Wen’s attention was pulled away by the quick burst of gun fire. He snapped orders at his men in Chinese, waving his gun at them. They unholstered their guns and moved towards the stairs. Wen pulled a rather large knife off the desk. Lydia thought he was going to cut her throat with it, but instead he began cutting the rope that bound her.

            “Try anything and I will kill you slowly and painfully with this.”

           For emphasis, he stopped cutting to point the knife at Lydia’s stomach and give just enough pressure that it’d hurt without drawing blood.

**DOWNSTAIRS**

            Stiles and Claudia race up the stairs. Stiles takes off the pendant barring Kim from entering the door. He took a step back and nodded to Claudia.

            With a flick of her wrist, the door swung open. The moment they stepped inside, Wen lifted his gun and fired near point-blank range at Claudia.

            “Look out,” was all Lydia could scream before the crack of gunfire went off and the muzzle glowed.

            Stiles threw his hands in the air as Claudia took a step back into her son, he left arm going behind him. The bullet froze mid-air along with Wen.

            Claudia slapped the bullet out of the air and onto the ground while Stiles went to Lydia.

            “How long does this last again?” Kim asked.

            “Not very,” Claudia said. She kept her eyes fixed on Wen as she waved for Lydia and Stiles to hurry up.

            Wen unfroze. Seeing only Claudia in front of him, he turned. He jumped when he saw Lydia standing with her arm around Stiles’ waist. He raised his gun to shoot, but Claudia flung him out of the office window before he could pull the trigger.

            Wen landed on a pile of empty cardboard boxes. He scrambled to get up, but finally managed. He collected his gun and ran out.

            Hearing sirens, they rushed to the outer window facing the street. Below, Wen had exited the warehouse and entered a police ambush. Four squad cars were strategically placed to corner in the front doors.

            Stupidly and without thought, Wen raised his gun. The police had no choice but to shoot. After a hail of bullets, the fight lasted seconds and Wen was on the ground, bleeding out into the dirt.

            “I’ve never seen anyone killed before,” Claudia muttered silently, more to herself than anyone around her. Seeing the strange look her son was giving her, she rephrased. “Human, I mean.”

            “Come one,” Stiles put a hand on his mom’s arm. “We need to get out of here before anyone sees us.”

**ALLEY BEHIND WAREHOUSE**

            The group left through the emergency fire escape in the back of the building. As they were making a run for it, they heard someone running behind them. They turned –

            It was Mark Wen…or at least the ghost of Mark Wen.

            He nearly fell when he stopped running at the sight of Kim. “Y-You’re dead!” He sputtered.

            “So are you,” Kim said venomously.

            Through a whirlwind of dust spinning at the mouth of the alley, Yama rode forth on his horse.

            “Kim…” Lydia reached out to grab him, but her hand fell through. “You better get out of here.”

            But Kim did the opposite. He stepped forward, grabbed Wen by the collar and pulled him close. “Make a wish, you bastard.”

            He shoved Wen directly onto Yama’s spear. He shook violently for a moment before disintegrating into white smoke. Yama breathed him in; the eye sockets of his helmet glowed yellow.

            Yama directed his horse forward. He was coming for Kim next. Kim didn’t move. He held his head high and closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. He knew he would be dragged to hell along with Mark, a man who truly deserved it. Yet he didn’t care. Kim wanted to be at peace. If Yama was the one to bring him that peace, so be it. At least he would know he took down the man who killed him before doing so.

            “No!” Lydia yelled. She ripped herself away from Stiles as he tried to stop her from throwing herself in front of Kim. “You can’t have him! He’s a good man; he doesn’t belong with you.”

            “Lydia…” Kim tried warning her.

            “No, she’s right.” Claudia took a step forward and held Lydia’s hand. Stiles joined her. Together, they formed a barrier between the spirits. “Yama can’t take human life. He doesn’t have that power.”

            Yama slowly and deliberately walked his horse forward, testing the limits of the group. He was a breaths distance away from skewering Lydia. Testing _him,_ she took a step forward. Yama was forced to step back. Just as Claudia said, he didn’t have the power. They did.

            With an un-earthly growl, Yama disappeared through the whirlwind of dust. Only the embers of his eyes shown through the dust before it settled.

**KIM’S FUNERAL**

            Lydia stood off to the side with Claudia and the rest of the pack. Although they didn’t know Kim, never even saw him, they still came out to support her. Kim knelt on the ground beside his mother’s chair where she sat crying. She was surrounded by family but she felt utterly alone.

            As the funeral was concluding, Kim slowly walked up to where they stood. He nodded his head for Lydia to join him. Claudia rubbed her shoulders as she left.

            “All those stories,” Kim started off saying. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his head was down. He walked slowly and kicked every pebble that came into his path. “All those legends she taught me. She saved my soul…She was right.”

            “That’s what moms are for,” Lydia smiled. It was hard enough during the funeral to keep from crying, but this was breaking her heart.

            He nodded. “Tell Isaac not to miss his birthday. Not any of them. They’re precious.”

            “I will,” Lydia nodded back.

            “I wish-”

            “I know.” She quickly swiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks before Kim could see them. “Me too.”

            Across the small graveyard, by a red bridge covering a koi pond, a Chinese man in a tailored suit appeared. He was tall, yet stocky. Bald on top, but with hair circling the sides of his head. He smiled patiently at them.

            “Who’s that?’

            Kim looked up to see who she was talking about. He stopped and smiled. “That’s my dad.” When he looked back at Lydia, his smile faltered. “I guess this means goodbye, huh?”

            Kim reached out to wipe a tear off her face, but then remembered he couldn’t touch her. He let his hand linger by her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. After a moment, she opened her eyes and took a step back from him.

            It was time for him to go.

            Kim turned without another word and walked to his father. His father embraced his with open arms and they faded away.

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

**EVENING**

The pack, exhausted from the drive and grim memories of previous funerals, came in through the front door and kicked off their shoes.

            “I changed my mind,” Isaac said. He shrugged off his coat, unwrapped his scarf, and hung them up in his peg.

            “About what?” Derek asked. He had his arm around Lydia, her hand on his waist. She was still a little shaken from this afternoon.

            “About the party.” He turned to the pack and gestured to the door. “Kim was right, I guess.”

            “Well, baby brother,” Scott said, smiling wolfishly and throwing his arm around Isaac’s shoulders. He began steering him towards the living room. “I’m glad you said that.”

            Scott and the rest of the pack shove Isaac into the dark room. The lights flick on to show a crowded room of people, all yelling “Surprise!”

            Isaac playfully places a hand over his heart and imitates a heart attack.

            “Don’t you start with me,” Melissa said, smiling as she walked up to her boys. She embraces Isaac, whispering in his ear, “Happy birthday, baby.”

            “Thanks….mom.”

**MEANWHILE @ PETER’S APARTMENT**

Peter was walking around back from his kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand, and Claudia’s business proposal in the other. He had been reading it over since she dropped it off on her way to a funeral this morning. She said something about a ghost kid and yams, but Peter was hardly paying attention to what she was saying. He was more interested in what she was _wearing_.

            She wore Armani. He _loved_ the way Armani fit her, clinging to her curves, silhouetting them till they bordered on the line between mysterious and sexy. The dress itself was black (of course) with an off-the-shoulder neck line and long sleeves. It hugged her well, gently flowing till it ended mid-calf. She wore pearls in her ears. Her hair was pinned into a loose, messy bun that was at the same time elegant.

            As she spoke, he leaned against the doorframe, bare chested and boxer-briefed, imagining himself unpinning her soft hair. He stood in the middle of the hallway now, bringing that lustful image back into his mind. He smiled.

            He brought his glass up to his lips to sip –

            But a military grade tomahawk axe was thrown just seconds before the sweet wine touched his lips. The axe implanted itself in Peter’s chest. He lost control of his limbs, the wine glass and papers fell to the floor. Peter fell to his knees before falling back. He landed on shards of glass; his blood mixing with the wine, staining the paper.

            Out of the darkness, a figure crept towards Peter. He was dressed in black from head-to-toe, all except his head. That was clearly visible. Peter was able to see his assailant’s corpse like face – pale, sunken eyes with purple shadows beneath them, eyes hallow and dead. What struck Peter as strange was not the weapon in his chest, piercing his head and other vital organs, but the fact his assassin had no mouth. Where his mouth should have been was nothing but smooth skin; as if he never had a mouth to begin with.

            Peter was losing consciousness fast from the shock and blood loss. He was doing everything he could to stop the urge of passing out. He needed to stay awake long enough for Claudia to find him. He was expecting her after the funeral. Peter rolled his eyes towards the clock on the wall. She would be here any minute. That meant…….

            Peter tried to cause himself to shift, advance the healing process, so he could kill this _thing_ before it could kill him, and most likely Claudia the moment she walked in.

            The man saw his struggling. He raised his arm and flipped open a screen protector. He began typing on a little keyboard attached to his forearm. A dethatched, synthetic voice came from the device,

            “Do not worry, Peter. Your day will come.”

            The man lowered his arm and walked over him. Moments later, it all faded to black for Peter.

**HOUR LATER**

            Peter was forcefully woken by a searing pain in his chest. He arched his back, screaming in horrendous pain, as the axe was torn from his chest.

            “Hush up before your neighbors call the cops.” Claudia said as she wrapped the bloody axe in the scraps of shirt she had to cut off Peter. She put it off to the side.

            The pain and shock of sudden extraction caused his vision to go black with white spots for a couple moments. He coughed and sputtered blood – it was black. Peter could almost the wolfsbane.

            He looked down at himself. Glorious body that he had (if he vainly said so himself), it was marred by a deep gash in the center of is chest oozing with black blood. He followed a drop of blood as it rolled down his happy trail, lower, and lower…..

            Out of the haze he could see a pair of beautifully sculpted legs clad in grey draw-sting capri sweats. Following the spread hips straddling him, and working his way up the Smith’s vintage shirt to the angelic face glaring down at him.

            “Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” Peter smiled at her.

            She smiled back, but there was a glint in her eyes. She raised her hand and flicked the switch a lighter. “Oh, I’ll do more than pinch you, sweetheart.”

            “I think I can handle a little fire.”

            Her smile grew as she raised her other hand. In it was a small welding torch. She touched the gas tip to the lighter. Peter’s snarky face fell into something between terror and disgust.

            “God I hate foreplay.”

He reached for a nearby rag and stuffed it into his mouth. He gripped Claudia’s hips hard enough to leave bruises and nodded up at her. As she brought the torch down, his claws naturally extended and pierced her. She stifled a gasp by biting her tongue. He yelled into the rag and thrashed about. The only thing keeping him steady was his hold on Claudia and her thighs clamped to his sides. He trusteed violently, bucking her to get off, but at the same time kept her in place.

To an outside observer, it might have looked like rough, fiery sex, but neither of them were getting any pleasure from this. A strange sensation of both pain and temptation, yes….but not pleasure.

It didn’t take long for the fire to burn away the poison. Claudia shut off the torch and tossed it aside. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air. Peter collapsed on his back, breathing heavily and in rugged gasps, sounding as if he had just finished a marathon. Claudia reached down and quickly jerked Peter’s claws out of her thighs. It was better to rip it off like a Band-Aid rather than to wiggle them out. Having dated Peter, she was no stranger to being clawed “in the moment”.

She rolled off of him and sat back against the nearest wall. Looking down at ruined sweats – puncture marks ringed with blood – she sighed.

“You owe me a pair,” she told him. Like him, she had to take a moment to get her breath back.

            “If we don’t hurry, there’ll be nothing left for me to owe you.” Peter sighed quietly. He rolled onto his side and painfully stood up. He reached his hand out to Claudia. She accepted it and he helped her up.

            “What are you talking about?”

            “The assassin with no mouth told me something before he left.” Peter stumbled over to his bedroom to find himself another shirt.

            Claudia was beginning to think she burned more than his chest hair. “How does a guy with no mouth say _anything?_ ”

            “Look pretty and follow me,” Peter ordered as he walked to the door

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

            The party is winding down and people are filtering out. The boys was outside in the front yard bowling with a soccer ball and plastic lawn ordainments. Malia was near the food table; Lydia was with Kira’s parents talking about Kim; and Kira was scrolling through Pintrest with a couple of girls on the couch. John and Melissa went off to the back porch a while ago with some beers and birthday cake.

Derek had just rolled a strike when his cell phone began to ring. He had to get away from the whooping and cheering in his ear to hear anything when he answered the phone. He plugged his other ear and listened closely. What he was hearing wiped the smile off his face. He checked his watch before giving the other line a short answer.

He tucked the phone away and turned to the boys.

“Stiles, your mom called-”

“Does she want her jeans back?” Stiles joking scoffed, kicking the ball down the lane.

“She’s with Peter, smart-ass.” Derek said. He pulled his jacket up from the ground and slung it on. Stiles was practically frozen.

“That’s not funny.” Stiles pointed his finger at Derek.

“No, it’s not.” Derek pulled his keys out of his pocket and grabbed Stiles’ arm on his way down the driveway. He yelled over his shoulder to Scott, “Are you coming?”

**BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL**

            Derek, followed eagerly by Stiles, led Scott to the Hale family vault. Scott and Stiles expected this prized vault to be somewhere more….vault like. Like an actual bank and not their high school.

            Derek took them straight to the Beacon Hills High School stone sign.

            “Your family built a vault under a school?” Scott asked.

            “Vault was here first.”

           Derek extended his claws. On the side of the stone, there as an ornate circle. He stuck the claws in and a blue spark flashed. He turned it in a certain combination before the blue spark reappeared. He pulled back and the circle pushed into the stone. It was a lock. The stone slowly swung to the side revealing a cracked staircase that led a long way down.

            Stiles slightly shoved Derek out of the way to get down first. Derek sarcastically waved his hand towards the entrance for Scott to go next.

Below, the vault looked like something out of a movie set – brick walls with dripping water, branching off a large platform was a walkway towards the center to where the most important treasures lie. Tragically kneeling at the base of the walkway, shoulders hunched over in defeat, was Peter Hale.

            “Mom?” Stiles called out, looking around. There was small pools of blood on the platform, water dripping from the pipes above mixed in with it. “Mom!”

            Derek walked past Stiles and to Peter. He nudged a couple of canisters. He bent over to pick them up. He sniffed.

            “Flash-bangs.” Derek tossed it to Scott. He turned to Peter. “What happened?”

            “Ambush,” a voice said from the top of the stairs. They turned and saw Claudia making her way down the stairs with a first-aid kit and a blanket. She had some scrapes and bruises, but what drew Stiles’ attention was the bloody marks on her thighs.

            “Mom,” He went over and hugged her.

            She patted his cheek and smiled. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

            “You were ambushed? By who?” Derek pressed.

            Claudia pulled away from Stiles to continue over to Peter. She knelt in front of him and cleaned the gashes on his arms.

            “Earlier this evening, a mute assassin planted a tomahawk in Peter’s chest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to kill him. He just wanted the keys.”

            “To the vault?” Scott asked.

            Derek shook his head. “No way. You need claws to open the lock. Hale claws.”

            “He took your mother’s,” Claudia said softly. Derek’s chest puffed with anger. He looked around for something to hit. “After I took the axe out of Peter’s chest, we headed here. Big mistake.”

            “They were waiting for you.” Stiles said. “So they needed a _living_ Hale to open it.”

            Claudia nodded. “And we opened the door. They threw those canisters in when we got to the bottom. After that….” She shook her head. She cleaned up and disinfected all that she could. She wouldn’t waist the bandages on Peter seeing as how he’ll be fine in a couple hours. She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and stood up. “After that it was fuzzy. Fighting and yelling and snarling. I’m surprised neither of us are dead.”

            “Did you see anything? Anyone?” Derek asked.

            “A man,” Peter whispered. He turned his head slightly to them, but kept his eyes focused on the elaborate chest at the end of the walkway. “A man in a black suit.”

            “Peter-”

            “They took it. They took it while I was blind….” Peter trailed off into incoherent muttering to himself.

            “Took what?” Scott asked. He took a step forward, but both Derek and Claudia shot their hands out to keep him back.

            Peter stopped muttering. He straighten up, dropping the blanket from around his shoulders, and stoop up. He did all this slowly, eerily. He turned to them like a cobra waiting to strike. “This was a heist, child. Someone thought this out; someone _planned_ this.”

            “How much did they take?” Derek asked.

            “117,” Peter whispered painfully.

            “Thousand?” Stiles scoffed.

            “Million!” Peter growled, barring his razor sharp teeth at the boy.

 


	12. Chapter 11

**HASTINGS**

            Hastings was too nice of a place for a town as simple as Beacon Hills; it brought an elegance and ‘upper-class’ notability to the city. There were valets dressed in black suits with red bow-ties and crimson red ‘H’ cufflinks. Behind the valet stand was an arched walkway, meticulously threaded with vines and warm string lights, and lead to the hostess stand. The visible staff consisted entirely of beautiful women; the only men that would be seen outside of the kitchen were the two bartenders. Highly sexist and objectifying, yes, but it paid well and was becoming the most frequented place in Beacon Hills night life.  

            Tonight was like any other night, nearly all standing room for people who were without reservations and were impatiently waiting by the bar to be seated. The people who waited didn’t mind after a while because they could at least say they got inside.

            Claudia Cole was carefully making her way through the crowd with an empty tray in her hands. She wore the mandatory uniform – a strapless black cocktail dress that pushed up the breasts with the sweetheart neckline, hugged the hips, and stopped short of the knees paired with cherry red heels and lipstick. All the waitresses’ hair were pinned up to have little ringlets fall around the face.

            She smiled politely and discreetly waved to some of the regular customers. The owner, Joshua Hastings, encouraged the female staff to mingle with the patrons.

            She abruptly stopped when a man in black slacks and a tan polo stepped in front of her. She would have apologized if she hadn’t smelled the booze wafting off of him.

           “Are your parents terrorists? ‘Cos baby you’re the bomb.” He gestured with his hands for emphasis and managed to slosh his drink on himself.

           Claudia tried to move around him, but the man’s friend side-stepped her. “Jim, Jim, ask her if it hurt when she fell.”

           “Excuse me?” Claudia asked.

           “When you fell from Heaven. Did it hurt?” The man looked her up and down, biting his lip. “‘Cos I know an angel when I see one.”

           Claudia slowly pressed herself against the man, laying her hand on his chest, and whispering in his ear, “I’m no angel. I’m a witch.” She pulled back, putting a finger to her lips and winking.

            She walked around the dazed man and over to Mellissa McCall’s table. Thankfully, Claudia was able to snag it when she clocked in this afternoon. She put her tray on the table as she sat down. She would have launched into her encounter with the drunken suburban dads, but Melissa was starring off at the bar.

            “What are you staring at?” Claudia turned around and saw a young couple clinging to each other in a passionate lip-lock. The man was sitting on a barstool while the girl stood between his legs.

           “They have been going at it for almost an hour.” Melissa absentmindedly said.

           “Ugh,” Claudia turned away, her face scrunched up. “I can’t even look.”

            Claudia reached out and took a sip of Melissa’s wine. She handed it back to Melissa so that she could finish it off. “I know. I hate being single.”

            “Who’s fault is that?” Claudia smiled.

            Melissa’s mouth fell open. “You’re the one to talk!”

            “I just got a divorce; you’ve _been_ divorced.”

            “Yeah, well, this town doesn’t have much to offer.” She smiled snidely. “Last date I went on, he wanted to bite me and turn me into a den mother for his new pack.”

            That gave Claudia pause. She simply nodded. “Fair enough.”

           “Waitress coming through.” A light, airy voice called out gently through the crowd. Haley weaved through the tables with a single drink on her tray and a lovely smile on her face. She stopped at their table. “Special delivery.”

           “Haley, this is my friend Melissa,” Claudia introduced the two as Haley set a glass of white wine down in front of Melissa.

           “Well, then, Melissa, it’s your lucky night.”

           “Um,” Melissa pointed down at the glass. “I think there’s been some kind of a mistake. I didn’t order this.”

           “I know,” Haley’s smile grew. “You have a secret admirer. He ordered it for you.”

           She turned on her heel and pointed at a man in a wheelchair. He was a handsome man after a second glance. He raised his glass to her.

           “Who’s that?” Claudia asked Haley excitedly.

           “I have no idea. I’m just following the bartender’s orders.” She gently tapped Melissa’s shoulder with her finger. “And, apparently he’s been eyeing you all night.”

           “Haley, can you do me a favor?” Haley’s and Claudia’s smiles fell as Melissa put the drink back on the tray carefully. “Please tell him thank you and I’m very flattered….but I’m kind seeing someone.”

            Perplexed, Haley agreed. She turned around and went back to the man’s table.

            Claudia propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “Either you’re lying now or you were lying two minutes ago.”

            “Maybe it’s a bit of both….” Melissa dragged out. She smiled and laughed a bit. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s something.”

            Claudia reached over the table and squeezed Melissa’s hand. “Whatever it is, whoever he is, as long as he makes you happy….” She squeezed her hand again, “I say go for it.”

            “Get off your ass, we’re getting swamped out here,” a frazzled waitress with a noticeable hicky on her neck rushed by the table, glaring at Claudia.

            Claudia sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth. As she stood up, she calmly said, “If you see me smiling it's because I'm thinking of doing something evil. If you see me laughing it's because I've already done it.”

**HALEY’S APARTMENT**

**NIGHT**

            She had finally crawled into bed around 1:30am. Joshua wouldn’t let the girls leave until all the money was accounted for. He didn’t trust women, clearly, but he tolerated them to make his money. She would have left months ago, but the pay was excellent and the restaurant was elite. If you were a Hastings’ girl, you were elite. Haley liked feeling that way.

            She’d been sleeping for nearly an hour when a leather gloved hand clamped harshly over her mouth, causing her to wake. She began to struggle, but the man turned on the bedside light.

            It was the man from Hastings, the one in the wheelchair.

            But he was sitting on the edge of her bed now, holding his hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. He leaned in close and whispered,

           _“Hello, Haley.”_

            She begins to struggle again, but he presses his hand tighter over her mouth. _“Shh…you’re in my world now.”_

           The man threw off the covers and helped her out of bed as her room turned into her dream through a series of rolling fog and spinning walls. It's all red, everything is red – the air, the ground, the clouds. Haley looked around. It kind of looked like the top of her building’s roof. Feeling the wind brush by her, she glanced down. She's was now wearing a cream evening dress instead of her Mickey and Mini t-shirt and gym shorts. Against the murderous atmosphere and his black clothing, she was the only source of light in her nightmare. In his fantasy.

 _“You look beautiful in that dress. I knew you would.”_ The man stood behind her, brushing the tips of his fingers across the tops of her shoulders.

           “I-I don't understand.”

           He whispered in her ear, ticking her. “ _It's your dream, but it's my fantasy.”_

           “Where am I?”

He chuckled. _“You're dreaming. I'm visiting.”_

           “You're in my dream…”

           “ _Yes,”_ he walked around to face her, trailing one finger one her _. “But I can make it mine.”_

           She glanced down at his feet. He was standing, yes, but in her haze she hadn’t realized he could walk. “You can walk.”

           _“In dreams I can do anything.”_ He held out his hands to her and slowly she took them. They began to dance, the man spinning her around. _“I can dance in your dreams, I can alter your dreams,”_ he placed one hand on her lower back and the other on her neck and slowly dipped her down. He held her there. _“And I can kill you in your dreams.”_

            She brought herself out of the dip and thumped on his chest to get away. He merely smiled and danced his way back, his hands firmly gripping her sides.

           “No, please.”

           _“Did you know that if you die in your dreams_ ,” He pulled her close to his chest for a moment to waltz her to the building ledge. He lifted her by the hips to stand on it, _“You die in real life.”_

For effect, he dips her down as that she could see how long of a fall it was to the bottom.

“Please don't hurt me!” Haley yelled, and the man chorused her.

He chuckled. _“Now Haley, you rejected me and now you gotta pay.”_

           “Please, don't do anything!” Haley screamed, tears rolling down her face. The man chorused her again, laughing.

           _“Sweet dreams.”_ With two fingers, he pushed her off the edge and walked away to the sound of her screaming…..and then silence.

**HALEY’S APRTMENT**

**MORNING**

           Haley was dead.

She was lying on her bed, covers thrown aside and her body in an awkward position. There was no blood, but her limbs were flexed and contorted in inhuman positions. In the corner of the room, a forensics tech snapped photos.

           “What do we got here?” John asked as he walked up to the bed. Seeing the girl in her p.js reminded him Claudia had the same matching set.

Deputy Jordan Parrish walked up with his notepad. “Here name was Haley Morris, early twenty's, waitress at Hastings.”

           John cocked his head to the side. “Looks like she broke all her bones.”

“That’s because every bone in her body's been crushed.” Parrish glanced down at his pad. “The coroner said it's as if she's fallen off a twenty story building.”

“So a jumper,” He turned to Parish with skepticism. “But without the sidewalk and blood.”

Parrish threw his hands in the air. “Just reporting what the Doc said.”

           “We're in a closed apartment, on the ground floor and the body hasn't been moved.” John rubbed his eyes. It was too early in the morning for puzzles. He turned and walked out the bedroom door.

            “Sherriff?”

            “Getting coffee!”

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

           Since the kids were in school and the girls had the morning off, the decided to spend it like typical middle-aged moms. Melissa is standing in front of the TV watching an exercise video and trying to copy what they're doing. Claudia was lying on the couch reading a trashy tabloid she picked up on the way over here with a bottle of wine on the floor next to her.

           “Uh, I give up.” Melissa put down the five-pound pink weights she had been working with and decided to lay on her exercise mat. She picked up the DVD case and looked the cover over. “Two weeks and nothing strengthened but my temper.”

“Mell, you didn’t read the fine print.” Claudia exchanged the wine bottle for the DVD case. Melissa happily agreed. “See. It says right here.” Claudia pointed to a random spot on the back of the case. “$19.95 for the video and twenty grand for the plastic surgeon.”

           “Yeah. Well it’s worked.” Melissa handed the bottle back to Claudia. “She’s the most desired female in America. She’s what every man wants.”

            “Of course men want her.” Claudia went back to reading her rag-mag. “Men are not different from women. We all want what we can’t have. Which is why we need to stop thinking about what men want and start thinking about what we want in a man.”

            Melissa turned her head to look up at her. “You’re reading that, aren’t you?”

            Claudia tossed the magazine over to Mellissa. “Of course I’m reading. All I want is tons of fun, lots of heat, and no strings attached.”

            “So Peter…..” Melissa mused. She began laughing when Claudia made a move for the magazine to beat her with it. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

            “Better be,” Claudia begrudgingly took a swig of wine. She swallowed hard. “It don’t want to think about Peter. I don’t want to think about John. I just want to think about me.” She turned to look at Melissa. “Is that selfish of me to want that?”

            “I think it’s perfectly reasonable considering what you’ve been through the past couple months.”

            “What do you want?” Claudia asked as she handed over the bottle to Melissa.

           “I want romance.” She let the brought the tip of the bottle to her lips and kept it there while she thought. “Long, slow kisses. Late-night talks. Candle lights. I love _love_. I’d take that in a flat second.”

           “Hmm, but then you’d have to deal with the family secret, which isn’t exactly normal now, is it?” Claudia pointed out.

            Knowing Claudia was right, Melissa tilted her head back and began chugging. With how screwed up her life was, she’d never be able to find anyone.

**BEACON HILLS POLICE STATION**

**AFTERNOON**

            Parrish poked his head into John’s office as he knocked on the door. John waved him in.

            “Got the coroner’s report,” Parrish held the document in the air. He handed it to John. “Haley Morris died of massive internal hemorrhaging. Her body literally imploded upon itself.”

           After reading what little he could make out, he looked up at Parrish. “Ever seen anything like it before?”

           “Like you said at the crime scene, boss – looks like a jumpers but their bodies usually come with sidewalks.”

           “There aren't any signs of external damage consistent with any type of fall,” John muttered aloud as he continued to skim through the file. “In fact there's not a scratch on her.”

           “Maybe the body was moved.” Parrish suggested. “Maybe we were wrong.”

“From where?” John closed the file and stood up. “How?” He dropped the file on his desk and began pacing around. “The front door was locked and bolted; each window had bars on it, none of which had been tampered with in any way. Nobody but she was in that apartment last night.”

           “It's not a suicide,” Parrish said, “And it's sure not death by natural causes.”

“Which leaves only one thing...” John stopped pacing.

           “Murder.” They said simultaneously.

**HASTINGS**

Claudia was called in for the late lunch / early dinner shift. She didn’t mind this shift because of the different dress code – a snug black cocktail dress with short sleeves and a modest neckline paired with red flats. Hair could be done in any fashion as long as it was out of the waitress’ face.

Claudia was currently carrying Mr. Haverford’s dinner, a regular customer. Haverford was an academic type that taught at the university about a half hour outside of town. He was in his thirties, full black hair, and matte black glasses. It seemed like he always came into Hastings for dinner wearing the same suit.

“The chicken with rice and vegetables. Just the way you like it.” AS she set the plate down in front of him, minding the papers he was grading, she commented on the dish. “Chicken well done, light oil on the vegetables and rice steamed dry.”

           “Thanks.” Haverford said flatly without looking up.

           “Bon Appetite.” She muttered as she walked back to bar to wait on her drinks.

Daniele Walters placed her order with the bartender, Kevin, before turning to talk to Claudia. She was one of the newer waitresses Joshua hired. He did it manly for her adequate beauty because she was a couple fires short of a happy meal when it came to brains. She was a delightful air-head, though, always nice to talk to.

           “Hey, why are you doing that?” Daniele gestured to Haverford’s table.

           “Haley didn’t show up for her shift day. So we’re short-handed.”

           “Ooh.” Kevin put the drinks on Claudia’s tray with a wink. She rolled her eyes. Daniele waved as she walked away.

**LATER**

Claudia was out back of Hastings taking her break. She slowly sipped a shot of whiskey Kevin slid her while looking up at the sky. She could never see the stars anymore not that she was in the city. When she was growing up, all she had to do was look out her window. She would fall asleep counting them instead of sheep. She’d never run out of stars to count.

            Her cell phone ringing brought her out of her trance. She pulled it out of her cleavage, the only place she could put it in her ‘uniform’.

            “Hey, Mell. What’s up?”

            “ _Well, I was thinking….”_ Melissa floated out cautiously. _“I, uh, I found this spell. ‘How to attract a lover’.”_

Claudia nearly choked on her drink. She spit it out. “How could you even find something like that? And please do not ‘the internet’.”

_“Then I won’t say the internet.”_

Claudia sighed, squeezing her eyes. “Mellissa-”

“ _Before you say no-”_

“You’re not even a witch, Mell. If it even _is_ an actual spell, you’ll need magic.”

_“Well, that’s where you come in.”_

“No, Melissa. Forget it. I’m not casting any spells.”

           _“Come on, Claudia! Aren’t you ready to have some fun in this god-forsaken town? Don’t you want to_ win _for once?”_

“Even if I wanted to – which I don’t – there’s this small thing called ‘personal gain’.”

           _“How is it personal gain, if you’re using your powers to bring happiness to another person? And in your case lots and lots of happiness.”_ Hearing silence on the other end, Melissa continued trying to sell Claudia on the idea. _“Look, I’m not talking about marriage. Both of us have been there and we’ve done that and we want something else now._ This _is that something else. This spell is about having good time. Don’t you_ want _to have a good time just once?”_

           “I admit it’s tempting. And the dating scene isn’t really my thing at the moment.” Claudia sighed. She couldn’t believe she was even slightly considering it. “But bringing men into our life through a spell...” Someone, another waitress, came out the back door to take a smoke. Claudia turned away and lowered her voice. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that a little bit desperate?”

           _“How is asking for what you want being desperate?”_

Melissa did have a point.

Sensing she had Claudia on the ropes, she gave her final argument. _“Besides, the occult website says we could reverse this spell at any time.”_

**CLAUDIA COLE’S APARTMENT**

**NIGHT**

            Claudia was cutting vegetables in the kitchen, her apron securely tied around her, when the front door opened. She grasped the butcher’s knife and slowly opened the glass barn doors of the kitchen.

            “Mom?!” Stiles yelled when Claudia came around the kitchen corner wielding a knife. “It’s me! It’s me!”

            “Stiles, baby, learn to knock,” Claudia lowered the knife and pulled him into a hug.

            “Then why’d you give me a key?”    

            “Fair point,” She patted his cheek when she pulled back. Walking back into the kitchen, she spoke over her shoulder, “I thought you were going to Isaac’s lake party?”

            “I am,” he immediately walked over to the candy jar in the corner of the kitchen – a granite bowl with a white ceramic fox, curled up in its sleep, lid. “Awesome, Red Vines.” He picked out a couple and hopped on the counter to eat them. Claudia wiped the blade on her apron before sliding it in a wooden bust of Julius Caesar’s head. “Just wanted to stop by on my way over. See if you had dinner.”

“Claudia, I was wrong. The spell calls for cayenne pepper not black-” Melissa stopped reading from her tablet when she looked up and saw Stiles on the counter, a Red Vine hanging out of his mouth. “Did I say spell? I-I meant recipe.” Stiles continued to stare at her, motionless and slightly disproving. “We’re busted, aren’t we?”

Stiles nodded his head, his Red Vine slapping his chin. He turned to his mom. “What spell are you casting?”

           “I realized today that Melissa may have stumbled onto something. Something harmless and reversible.”

            “What’s the spell for?” Stiles hopped down from the counter and made a move to grab Melissa’s tablet. She swatted his hand.

            “An adult spell.”

            “Now I’m worried,” he turned to his mom and pointed over his shoulder to Mellissa. “And she’s not even a witch. How’s your spell going to work?”

            “Don’t you have homework to do?” Claudia asked, deflecting.

            “Don’t you have a secret spell to cast?” Stiles asked.

            Claudia rolled her eyes and guided her son to the door. “Scram, kiddo. Get your homework done, read the books I gave you-”

            “Potion making? You’re a real Professor Snape.”

            “Or you can’t go to Isaac’s lake party this weekend.” Claudia continued as if he never interrupted.

            “Love you.” Stiles pecked her cheek and headed out the door.

           Claudia bolted the door and turned around. Melissa was standing at the end of the hallway, holding up spices with a smile on her face. “Ready?”

**DEREK HALE’S LOFT**

            Peter was slumped over on the couch, a bottle of scotch in his hand. Since the heist, he hasn’t felt up to doing anything besides drink. And with the full moon this weekend, he was hoping to pass out in a puddle of alcohol and ride it out. Derek, on the other hand, wanted to talk.

            “I still don’t get it.” He was walking around the open room, fiddling with the armband Peter managed to snag off the assassin with no mouth. “How can a guy with no mouth talk? How can he eat?”

            “I apologize for not asking him that.” Peter slowly spoke. He rubbed his face with the heel of his palm. “Must have slipped my mind while I was trying not to die with a tomahawk in my chest.”

            “And who carries around tomahawks?”

            “I used to.” Derek turned sharply to the door, while Peter lazily rolled his head and squinted. Walking through uninvited was Sheriff Stilinski. With him was the Wendigo police report he smuggled out of the station. He has been having Derek hold on to the ‘supernatural’ case files that were too risky to keep in the department. “Military.” He pointed to the device in Derek’s hand. “So is that.”

            “Do you know what it’s used for?” Derek asked, handing him the wrist keyboard.

            “Better question,” Peter loudly called out, “who invited you? I sure as hell didn’t?” He pointed at Derek with his bottle. “Did you?”

            John ignored the drunk on the couch and studied the equipment. “This one looks like it’s been modified.”

            “Show me.”

**CLAUDIA COLE’S APARTMENT**

**LIVING ROOM**

They had everything set up on the coffee table – a copper pot filled with spices and herbs, and other necessities, all encircled by lit candles. The entire apartment was dark, the only source of light came from the candles, giving the room and eerie atmosphere. And what spell casting could be complete without an open bottle of wine?

            This would be Claudia’s first spell since coming back, and Melissa’s first spell period. They were both equally nervous and excited.

            “I’ll go first,” Claudia said.

            “Okay,” Melissa nodded.

            Claudia held her notecard over the pot, but pulled back. “And you’re sure this is what the spell said?”

            “Yes, for the last time, yes. I may not be a witch, but I do know how to read.” She curiously glanced at Claudia’s card. “What’d you write?”

            Claudia pulled her card closer to her. “What’d _you_ write?”

            After a moment of staring each other down, they silently and slowly held their cards out for the other to take.

            Claudia began giggling as she read Melissa’s. “You want a man who is single, smart….” Claudia looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Endowed?”

           “Employed.”

           “Oh, sorry, _employed_.” Claudia bit back her smile as she continued reading. “A man who loves sleeping in on Sunday, sunset bike rides,” she snorted, “cuddling by a roaring fire and late-night talks. A man who loves love as much as you do.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Is this the guy you were talking about last night?”

           “Bite me,” She cleared her throat before reading Claudia’s. “You want the sexy, silent type that finds you driving through town on the back of a Harley at 3:00 in the morning. A man who appreciates scented candles, body oils and Italian sheets.”

            Melissa starts to laugh, so Claudia snatched back her card and continued reading it in a deep, James Earl Jones type of voice.

           “He’s about hunger and lust and danger and even though you know all this, even though you know he’ll never meet your friends or share a holiday meal with your family, you still can’t stay away.” Melissa fell sideways on the floor laughing. Claudia patted Melissa’s rear with the card. “And he recycles.”

           “He recycles?” Melissa repeated, sitting back up and wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Oh yes,” Claudia rolled up both of their cards. “And I think it goes without saying we both want a man who is well...” she chuckled, biting her lip, “ _employed_.”

           “You’re twisted.”

“No, I just want something different. I want to get out of my suburban mom box for a while.” She handed the rolled papers to Melissa and picked up the spell Melissa had written down on a card. “This is the spell we have to say?”

           “Yeah. We’re lucky,” Melissa took a sip of her wine. “If we were men looking for women the spell requires putting a piece of honey cake in a sweaty armpit for day.”

            “That’s disgusting,” Claudia scrunched up her nose.

            “Ah, the things we do for love.” Melissa tossed the rolled paper in. There was a small pop that caused her to jump. White smoke rose from the pot.

            “Tell me about it,” Claudia downed the rest of her wine glass before picking up the pocket knife on the edge of the table. Without putting more thought into it, she sliced the palm of her hand. Melissa held out her hand, but looked away when Claudia sliced it. She winced.

            “You’ve got peroxide, right?” Melissa asked.

            “Don’t worry, I’m clean.” Claudia held out her sliced hand for Melissa to take with her own.

            “Says the dead woman.” Melissa mumbled.

           They took a deep breath before saying in unison, “I conjure thee, I conjure thee, I am the queen, you’re the bee, as I desire so shall it be.”

            They had to look away from each other to keep from laughing at the ridiculous words. AS they repeated it a second time, the smoke rising from the pot swirled around them. When they finished, the smoke blew out the candles, plunging the room into darkness.

           “You think it worked?” Melissa asked after a moment.

Across the apartment, in the kitchen, one of their cell phones starts to ring. In the darkness, they look at each other before bolting off the ground. They lightly shove each other as they slide across the hard wood, push back the kitchen barn doors, and rush to the one illuminated phone.

It was Melissa’s.

“Hello?”

_“Is this Melissa McCall?”_

Melissa’s face slightly fell. It wasn’t who she was expecting. “Yes, who’s this?”

           _“Yeah. We met at Hastings. Well, we didn’t actually meet. I sent you a glass of Chardonnay and you sent it back. Still, you know, I was wondering, maybe you’d like to go out sometime.”_

           “Uh, oh, look, as I told the waitress I’m just not available.” Her expression quickly turned from disappointment to caution. “How did you get my number, my name?”

            The man hung up.

           “Hello?”

           “Who is it?” Claudia asked.

           “That guy from Hastings who sent me a drink.”

           “What did he want?”

           “He asked me out.”

Claudia was about to offer her condolences when her own phone rang. She wiggled her eyebrows at Melissa before answering. “Claudia Cole.” Her face fell, as well.

“Not who you were expecting, either?” Melissa asked when Claudia ended the call.

“And by that you mean I was expecting anyone other than work to call me, you’d be right.”

            “Maybe the spell takes a couple hours to kick in.” Melissa said to cheer herself up.

            “Or maybe it didn’t work?”

            “You’ll have to let me know,” Melissa pocketed her phone and shrugged on her coat. “I’m going home and taking a bath.”

           “So I’m the test dummy for your idea?”

            Melissa blew her a kiss on her way out the door.

**DEREK HALE’S LOFT**

            John wasn’t a computer-savvy person; he knew about as much to operate his phone and his computer. Back when he was in the military, there were tech guys that handled this equipment for him. With Derek at the computer, John gave him the best directions he could. Derek figured out most of it, but some he had to screw around with it before he managed to get to where he needed.

            After a while, he found something.

            “Got an IP address.” He spoke over his shoulder. “We can find him.”

            The connection between the computer link-up and the device must have triggered something. The device began to mechanically chirp and twitch.

            “What was that?” John took a step back.

            The computer beeped. Derek turned his attention away from the device and back to the screen. “I found a message.”

            On the bottom of the screen beneath lines of complicated code was a single coherent word. John leaned over Derek’s shoulder.

            “Do you recognize the name ‘Benefactor’?”

            “Peter?” Derek called out to his uncle. He glanced up and saw the man passed out on the couch, the bottle nearly empty and dangling between his fingers.

            The computer beeped again. John read, “Money transferred.” He turned to Derek. “What does that mean?”

            “I means this guy’s not just a thief, he’s a contract killer.” He turned in his chair and looked up at John. “An assassin.”

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

**MELISSA’S BATHROOM**

           Melissa is lying in the bath. Surrounding her were dozens of light, scented candles that would help her relax. Light music from the stereo plays in the background. She closes her eyes and begins drifting to sleep.

**DREAM**

Melissa is still sleeping in her bathtub, but the candles and music are gone and everything is tinted purple and red in the misty haze. A man dressed in black kneels by her tub. He gently strokes the side of her face with his leather gloved hand.

            Melissa violently jerks herself ‘awake’, sloshing water and bubbles over the edge.

           “ _Hello, Melissa,”_ the man smiled.

           Melissa scoots back in her tub as far as she could go, moving bubble foam to cover her chest. “Who the hell-”

           _“Am I and how did I get in_?” The man finished for her. He leaned forward so she could get a better look.

It was the man from Hastings, the one that called her tonight. It was the same man, yes, but there was no wheelchair. He seemed stronger now, more assured of himself, confident. His entire demeanor changed since last night. She was beginning to think the wheelchair was a ruse, a disguise that would allow him to appear harmless to the women he prayed on.

           “I don’t care just get-”

           “ _Out of the bathroom_?”

           “Scott!” The man yelled with her. “Isaac!”

            Melissa grabbed for the towel beside the tub, but the man got to it first. He handed it to her. She snatched it from him and covered herself in the water.

           “ _Scream all you want. No one can help you_.”

           “How did you know-”

           “ _Know what you are thinking and know what you’re going to say_?”

           “Yes.”

           He closed his eyes briefly and smiled. “I’m _in your unconscious. I know your every thought and desire.”_

           “Who are you?”

           He tucked a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. She flinched, which only seemed to amuse him. _“I’m the man of your dreams.”_

            In the blink of an eyes, Melissa and her bathtub were somehow moved to the roof of a building. The man stood up and walked around the tub, pacing it, circling it like a predator.

           “You’re not real. You don’t exist.”

           _“That’s what your mother used to say, isn’t it? Every night, before you went to sleep_?”

           Melissa closed her eyes firmly, pressing the towel closer to her body. “You’re not real. You don’t exist.”

           _“As she tucked you in? She’d say if you saw any monsters to tell yourself they weren’t real.”_

           “You’re not real. You don’t exist.”

           The man picked up a sponge from the base of the tub. He dipped it into the water and dragged it up to Melissa. “ _Do you say that about your sons?”_

She could feel the ripples it made. She was trembling. The man lifted the sponge out of the water and stroked her back.

           He breathing was raspy and uneven. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably in her chest. She couldn’t control her body shaking. She had faced fear, even death, before, but this was something entirely. “I-I can’t move. Why can’t I move?”

            The man chuckled in her ear. “ _Because I’m going to love you…to death_.”

           The man presses the sponge hard on her back and rubs it so hard it makes her bleed. He laughs as she screams out in pain. While her mouth is open, he pushes her head under the water.

Someone was banging on the door, outside of Melissa’s dream, in reality. Annoyed, the man sharply turns his head and let go of Melissa.

**REALITY**

            Melissa wakes up under the water of her tub, violently thrashing. She pulls herself up, gasping for air. The door opens and Scott sticks his head in.

           “Mom,” Scott looks around and sees water and soap puddled around the floor, candles knocked over and pooling wax. “Are you okay?”

           “Uh, yeah.” Instinctively, she pulls the towel closer to her. Realizing what she’s clutching, she grips it tighter. _It wasn’t a dream…._ the though echoes in her head.

           “You were yelling.”

           “Yeah. I had a...” She wipes soap off her face with a shaky hand. “I had a really bad dream.”

           “Sounded more like a nightmare.”

           “I-I’m okay now, Scott. I promise.” She looks up and tries giving him a smile. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“Okay mom.” Scott leaves, still concerned.

Slowly, Melissa gets out of the tub and dries herself off with a fresh towel. She felt pain when the towel touched her right shoulder blade. She went to the mirror to look at her back and saw the scratch marks from the sponge.

“Oh, my God…”

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

**MORNING**

            Claudia brought in hot coffee and breakfast to Melissa after listening to her panicked voicemail from last night. They were sitting at the nurse’s station, speaking quietly between sips of coffee and bites of their breakfast wraps.

           “Do you remember what our moms used to say about nightmares?”

           “They said if we saw any monsters to tell them to go away that they didn’t exist.” She covered her mouth while she spoke around the food, “Always worked, too.”

           “Yeah, well, not this time.” She put down her coffee and leaned forward. “He knew about my mom. He knew what she told us. How did he know that?” A nurse came into the station to pick up paper work. Melissa waited for her to leave. “And what about the marks on my back? Claudia, they were there and now they’ve disappeared. I don’t know how and I don’t know why but they were definitely there!”

           Claudia put down her food and took Melissa’s hands. “How many hours did you work this week? 60, 70? And it’s only Wednesday?”

           “Yeah, well, I work in a hospital. Sick people can’t grasp the concept of a 9-5 schedule.” She took her hands back. “And you’re changing the subject. You don’t believe me.”

           “I didn’t say that. I believe you are exhausted and watching you down your third cup of coffee isn’t helping.” She took the cup away from Melissa. “You said this happened while you were asleep in the tub. Isn’t it possible that exhaustion and sleep deprivation, not to mention the wine we had, make you have a nightmare about a guy you rejected?”

           “Maybe that spell we cast had something to do with it? Maybe it back fired and the man I rejected came to me in my dream somehow instead of the man I wanted.”

            “Oh, the spell worked alright….” Claudia said, looking away while she drank her coffee.

            “You had sex last night, didn’t you?” Claudia didn’t answer, but her smile did. Melissa kicked the edge of Claudia’s rolly chair. “You were out having sex while I was being murdered in my bathtub. How is that fair?”

            Happy to get Melissa out of her paranoid breakdown, even for a moment, Claudia worked up another theory to put her friend’s mind at ease. “Okay, say you were almost murdered-”

            “Which I was.”

            “Which you were,” Claudia added. “Maybe the spell working on me and not you did having something to do with magic.”

            “I knew it!” Melissa said a little too loudly, drawing attention for some people waiting nearby. She mouthed ‘sorry’ to them and lowered her voice. “I knew it!”

            “But not for the reason you think.”

            “What do you think?”

            “I think it worked on me because I’m a witch. I think because you were a human dabbling in magic, the ‘powers that be’ caused the complete opposite to you as a warning not to try it again.”

            “If that’s it, believe you me, I am _done_ with magic.” She raised her coffee cup for a toast.

            “If it happens again, we reverse the spell and I’ll buy you coffee for the rest of the month. If it doesn’t, you live and I enjoy the spell a little bit longer.”

            As Claudia was about to clink cups, Melissa pulled back. “How is it that you win? Now I kind of want it to happen again.”

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

            “Parrish!” John called out from his office. A moment later, Parrish came trotting in with a mug in one hand and creamer in the other.

            “Sheriff?”

            “It’s all here in the FBI files that were sent over last night,” John turned it around on his desk so that Parrish could read. The Deputy put his coffee and creamer aside on the coffee table before approaching the desk. “Three young women, completely unrelated, except for the fast they all died the exact same way as Haley Morris.”

            Parrish tapped the cause of death on the file. “Medical examiner listed them all as jumpers.”

            “Look at the crime scene photos.” John waited until Parrish was holding them in his hands. “All locked in their rooms.”

            “I’d hate to say it boss, but-”

            “We’ve got a serial killer,” John closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “I hate this job.”

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

            It was pretty quiet at the hospital, so Melissa was taking a short break to check-in with Claudia. Since Claudia was working the afternoon shift, she had a couple minutes to spare before getting back to work. She was telling Melissa how she met David, her spell dream boy.

            _“Get this. David doesn’t go to bars. He’s never been to Hastings, but last night he’s on his way back from his acting classes.”_

Melissa laughs. She quickly covers her mouth and apologizes. “Sorry.”

 _“When...BAM! Flat tire on his_ motorcycle _right across the street from Hastings. His cell is dead so he comes in to use the landline and who should he bump into but me, exiting the ladies’ room.”_

“And let me guess, the night ended with the two of you at your place?”

“ _God no….his place. Clothes everywhere, furniture turned over,”_ Claudia sighed contently. _“It was amazing.”_

“Well, I’m glad one of our nights turned out okay.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doctor Morehouse coming down the hallway. No doubt he was a heart-throb, the McDreamy of Beacon Hills Memorial, but he didn’t slacking nurses. “Uh, I’ll call you back.”

            Melissa grabbed a chart at random and looked it over, pretending to look busy until Morehouse went away. Unfortunately, he stopped at the desk. Melissa looked up.

            “Doctor Morehouse,” she said politely.

            “Please, call me Jack.” He flashed her a Colgate smile that was softened by his eyes. “I don’t want to seem forward, but has anybody ever told you how truly beautiful you are?”

Melissa laughs. “Have you been drinking?”

           Jack laughs back. It was a nice laugh, deep yet light. “Sense of humor, too.”

            “I better be getting back to my rounds,” Melissa put down the chart and got up to leave, but Just held his hand out.

            “Wait, Melissa.” Melissa stopped. She hadn’t realized Morehouse knew her name. “I don’t know why but I’ve got to get to know you. Have dinner with me.”

           “Can you hang on a second?” Melissa whispered, holding up a finger.

           Jack smiled, nodding, whispering back, “Okay.”

Melissa left the nurses station and walked down the hallway into an empty room. She pulled her cell out of her pocket and hurriedly dialed Clauida’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

“So, about that spell…..funny thing just happened.”

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

**MELISSA’S BEDROOM**

Claudia was relaxing on Melissa’s bed. She’d been here for the past hour and a half helping Melissa find something to wear for her date with Doctor Morehouse. Claudia had a date tonight, too. Thankfully, the boys weren’t here. They were out at Lydia’s lake house, prepping for their party on Friday night. Of course Melissa told Scott about her date tonight, but Claudia absolutely did not want Stiles knowing what she was doing. Namely, having sex with a gorgeous stranger for fun.

She checked herself out in the full-length mirror beside the bed while Melissa told her about Jack. She wore red leather pants and a black crop top with an open back, paired with spiked heels and dramatic dark eye makeup. She borrowed the clothes from another waitress.

“Jack stayed through my entire shift even though his had just ended. Talked my ear off, had me laughing at all his stories and somehow convinced me to have coffee with him on my break.”

           “David and I are going dancing at Rave. You and Jack should come join us.”

            “Aren’t you a bit old to go clubbing? And besides, I could never pull off that look.” She stepped out of her closet and gestured at herself. “Yes?”

            She wore a tight-knit black long sleeve shirt that tucked into a floor-length emerald green maxi skirt. She accented with silver – chain pendent necklace, flat shoes, clutch. Her hair was down and wavy.

            “Oh, yes.”

“Well, if our dinner date last as long as our coffee break,” Melissa said, sitting down on the bed to strap on her shoes, “we wouldn’t make it there till closing.”

Claudia’s phone chripped. She smiled. “David is outside.” She kissed Melissa on the cheek. “This has worked out so great, hasn’t it?”

           “Yeah.” Claudia waves on her way out of the bedroom. Melissa could hear her carefully trotting down the stairs and out the front door. The smile leaves Melissa’s face. “Great.”

**DREAM LAB**

Following a lead, John and Parrish were at the university, science department. A student lab techniction showed them through.

“So this is a dream lab?” Parrish said, looking around at all the equipment. “They actually pay people to sleep?”

The technician stopped at the windows of the observation room. “If you wait here, I'll tell Mr. Berman that you would like to speak with him.”

John thanks him as he walks away. He turned to Parrish, speaking quietly. “Look, just because Berman dated the first victim-”

           “Julie Garikson.”

           “Doesn't make him a killer.”

           “But it's a great place to start. It's our _only_ place to start.”   

            “Don’t remind me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “What do you know about this place?”

“It's a privately funded research facility where Julie Garikson worked before she died. She and Berman teamed up on some kind of experimental project.”

The sound of screeching wheels made them turn around. Berman was clutching the edge of his wheels to make them stop. He was a handsome man, muscular shoulders and arms; thick, neat hair; groomed stubble.

           “Hello Sheriff, Deputy,” he nodded to both of them. “How may I help you?

           “Are you Whitaker Berman?” Parrish asked.

           “Yes. What's this about?”

Parrish quickly glanced at John before answering. John nodded and took a step back. He was allowing Parrish to take control of his mistake.

“We're conducting an investigation and would like to ask you a few questions.”

           “Regarding?”

Parrish pulled out a photo from his jacket pocket and hands it to Berman. “Do you know this woman?

           “That's Julie Derikson. She was my girlfriend. I was heartbroken when she...” He handed the photo back to Parrish. “Forgive me, it's just very hard. I still miss her.”

           “Another woman died just like her the other night. A waitress. Crushed to death in her sleep.”

           “Oh, you're kidding?”

           “No.” John spoke up.

           “Mr. Berman,” Parrish said, taking a step closer. “Can you tell us your whereabouts night before last?”

           “I was here in the lab asleep. I left in the morning?”

           “Witnesses who can confirm that?” John asked.

           “A nights worth of data, two scientists and a lab technician.” He as becoming irritated. He sarcastically asked, “Shall I have them paged?”

           “No, that's okay Mr. Berman.” Parrish glanced at John. “Sorry we disturbed you. Thank you for your time.”

            The two men walked out of there the same as they walked in – with nothing.

**GODFATHER’S ITALIAN RESTURANT**

            Melissa and Jack had moved on to desert – cannoli – and wine. She was doing everything she could to sabotage the date for the past couple hours, but the spell wouldn’t let her.

           “What else can I tell you? Um, when I get stressed, I get hives...in very strange places. Which is nothing compared to what happens when I panic, believe me.”

           “Your honesty is so refreshing.”

           “Ah, well, it helps keep my _ulcer_ under control.”

           “It’s 2015. I mean, is there anyone who doesn't have one?”

           She leaned in closer. “Would you like to see my tattoo?”

           He leaned in closer, arching his eyebrow. “Would you like to see mine?”

           “Is there nothing I can say to turn you off?”

           “There really isn’t.” He smiled at her.

            She didn’t understand, how could the spell have not worked one night and was in overdrive the next? Maybe Jack was another way of the ‘powers’ warning her; that maybe he’d try and kill her? She was pulled from her paranoid thoughts when Jack kissed her.

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

           “The man is in a wheelchair.” John was tossing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it as he reclined in his chair. “He's got no motive and he's got an alibi. So tell me again why you think Berman is our suspect.”

           “Dream leaping.”

“Dream leaping?” John was stunned by Parrish’s answer that he didn’t catch the ball. It fell hard on his chest, slightly winding him. He sat up in his chair.

Parrish got up from the couch and handed John his tablet. On it was his research into Berman. “That's what Berman's researching at the lab. Dream leaping - the ability to project himself into someone else's dreams.”

“Going into women's dreams and killing them.” After scrolling though, he handed the tablet back to Parrish. “Now who's dreaming?”

“Not just any women. Women who reject him.” Parrish pressed his case further. He talked while he looked something else up on his tablet. “Just like Julie Derikson did. She broke up with him when they were driving somewhere. He got into an accident. That's why he's paralyzed. It's on there in the police report.” He handed the tablet back to John to read the report. “The day after he went back to work at the lab, Julie died suspiciously. Six months later, two more women died in their sleep. Crushed to death. Coincidence?” John handed Parrish back the tablet. “You tell me.”

“Love to. Can't.” John stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. “Let's go.”

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

            Melissa had finally had enough. She cut the date short and asked Jack to drive her back home. He tried to salvage the night by walking her up the stairs and kissing her goodnight. She shut him down before he asked for more. Nicely enough, he backed off and headed to his car.

            “Soctt!” Melissa kicked off her shoes and hung up her coat. “Isaac!”

           They didn’t respond. She shrugged, thinking they were probably asleep. If not, they were at Stiles’. She was walking down the foyer and noticed bunches of flowers everywhere. She sees an open box of chocolates and takes one. She walks into the kitchen and sees more flowers.

            “What in the world…..”

            There was a yellow sticky note on the kitchen counter. It was from Scott, she recognized the sloppy handwriting.

            _‘They were waiting on the doorstep when we got home.’_

Melissa looked around the room, thinking that they wouldn’t all be from Jack. She went from vase to vase collecting cards and reading them. They were lovely and heartfelt, asking for coffee and lunch and dinner dates, even a weekend in Paris, but they were all from men she barely know and some from men she’s never met.

She wanted to call Claudia, vent about her date, but she knew Claudia was probably having a wonderful time. She always did when it came to men and dating. She sighed, tired. Right now, all she wanted to do was sleep. She barely had the energy to crawl up the stairs, so she sunk down on the couch. The moth-bitten afghan made a lousy blanket, but she didn’t care.

Sleep washed over her within minutes.

**DREAM**

            _“Hello Melissa. We meet again_.” The gravel voice whispering in her ear woke her up. She quickly lunged for the letter opener on the coffee table.

           “Scott!” Melissa sat up, screaming. “Isaac!”

           The walls her living room disappear, the room itself transforming into the roof of a building. Swirling blue and red clouds surrounding them. Melissa was on the ground, on her back looking up at the man that would kill her.

           The man knelt over her, smiling. “ _Why do you shun the slightest hint of romance? Is it the pain of your past or the uncertainty of your future?”_

            Melissa tried getting up off the ground, but this increasing force kept pulling her down. “I don’t hide from anything.”

           _“You can’t move, can you?”_ He picks up one of her legs. _“Don’t you want to know why?”_ As he drags her closer to the edge of the roof, he taunts her. _“Because I don’t want you to. You’re powerless, Melissa. I, on the other hand, am the all power-full. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. There’s always Claudia or Lydia or any number of young, single women out there. It’s an endless pool for the Dream Sorcerer.”_

Her kicking and screaming where getting her nothing. She stopped fighting and started pleading. “No, wait. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

            _“It’s too late. You’re falling asleep_.” He balanced her back on the edge of the building. All he had to do was drop her feet.

           “No. I’m fine. I’m _awake_.”

           _“Shall I sing you a lullaby_?” He whispered, leaning in for a final kiss.

           “I don’t think so.” She jammed the letter opener from her coffee table in the base of his neck, between the shoulder and the neck. He yelled out in pain. For good measure, she kicked up into his crotch.

            He let go of her leg and stepped back, clutching his neck. That gave her enough time to crawl away from the ledge. She hadn’t gotten far when he grabbed her ankle and yanked.

            _“Good night, Melissa.”_ He growled, violently dragging her back to the ledge. He was inches way from throwing her off when the phone rang. The man yelled in anger and vanished.

**REALITY**

            Melissa jerked awake, clutching her chest, gasping for breath. With shaking fingers, she reached for her phone on the coffee table.     

           “H-Hello?”

_“Sorry, did I wake you?”_

Melissa closed he eyes in relief. It was John. Hearing his voice, its soothing tones, calmed her heart.

“John….” She opened her eyes. In her hand was the letter opener, blood on the tip and on the edge of her hand. “C-Can I call you back?”

_“Sure. I’m still working, so I’ll be up. Everything okay?”_

           “It is now. Thanks, John. Thanks for calling.”

           _“Something told me I needed to hear your voice.”_

           “Good thing you listened.”

**OUTSIDE**

            Melissa has her car keys in hand and is walking to her car while she waits for Claudia to pick up her cell.

            “ _Hello?”_

            “Claudia-”

            _“Melissa, we’ve got to reverse that spell.”_

            “Wait,” Melissa stopped, her key in the ignition. “You too?”

            _“Yeah, me, too. David would not leave me alone all night. He kept touching me. And practically every guy in the bar was hitting on me. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I ditched David and left him at the club. I’m heading home in a cab.”_

            “T-That’s not what I meant.” She started her car and buckled up. “It happened again. I fell asleep and that man from my dream tried to kill me again.”

           _“What?”_

           “It was worse than last time, Claudia. I don’t understand why. All I know is I’m only safe if I stay awake. If I fall asleep, I’m dead.”

           _“Honey, stay where you are. I’ll come pick you up.”_

“No! I don’t want to stay here another minute.”

 _“Alright, let me think.”_ Melissa waited anxiously in her idling car as Claudia came up with something. “ _Okay. Meet me at John’s; Stiles has the Book of Shadows. We’ll see if we can find anything and reverse the spell.”_

“Forget the spell for right now and focus on this guy. He calls himself a Dream Sorcerer.”

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

            Claudia used her key to get in. John gave her one for ‘emergencies’ and this damn well classified as one. The house was dark, but Stiles’ jeep and Scott’s motorcycle were in the driveway. The boys were probably sleeping upstairs. She didn’t have time to think about her son and his friends waking up to her dressed like this, looking for a spell do get rid of her date.

She rushed up to the attic as quietly as she could.

           She’s flipped through the book a dozen times in the past fifteen minutes, but she hasn’t found a single thing. Not a single thing mentioning killing someone in their sleep or more importantly this Dream Sorcerer. They only way the Book wouldn’t have anything would be if the threat was mortal.

            Demon or mortal or some supernatural catastrophe, there had to be a way to stop him.

           Claudia’s phone began to ring. What was she going to tell Melissa, that she couldn’t help her, that she could never go to sleep?

           “Melissa?”

            _“Did you find anything?”_

           “No, I didn’t but don’t worry. You’re not in this alone. I will help you. The pack-”

           _“How can you help me when we don’t even know what he is?”_

           “The most important thing right now is for you get here safely.”

           _“Yeah. Ok, um, look. Just keep talking. Don’t let me fall asleep.”_

           Claudia pulled the phone away for a second to think. She would have to risk the boys hearing her. When she came back, she was yelling, “Okay, Melly. Blast the air conditioning and roll down the windows. Do you remember the song we always used to sing when we were little?”

           _“The road trip song?”_ Melissa blinked furiously. She was beginning to feel her eyelids droop. _“Yeah. Let’s sing that.”_

           “Okay, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. Nothing is going to happen-”

           Downstairs, someone was knocking furiously on the door.

            “Claudia!” The man was yelling. Claudia quickly whispered curse words under her breath. It was David and he was angry. “Let me in. I have to see you.”

            Softly, Claudia made her way down the stairs. David was still yelling her name, pounding on the door.

            “ _Claudia, what’s going on?”_

“Mom?” It was Stiles. He was on the top landing, looking down the staircase at her. “What are you doing here? Who’s yelling?”

            “Hang on, Melissa.” She spoke into the phone. She looked up at Stiles, holding up her finger. “Just stay up there, sweetie.” Claudia held the phone to her chest, yelling back at David, “Go away!”

           David’s pounding harder until he broke open the door, by slamming his shoulder into it. Claudia screamed.

“Are you crazy?! What are you doing?!”

“Mom!” Stiles yelled. He rushed down the stairs to her. Claudia held out her arm so that Stiles would stay behind her.

           _“Claudia?”_ Melissa sleepily murmured.

           “You left me.” David angrily pointed at Claudia, moving towards her. “How could you leave me?!”

           “David, please.” Claudia held her hand up, urging him to stay back.

           “Ever since I met you I can’t do anything! Eat, drink, sleep. All I can do is think about you!” AS he walked further into the room, he started throwing things, knocking lamps off their stands.

            “Stiles, get upstairs. Wake up Scott and Isaac.” She turned to him when he didn’t move. “Now!”

**MELISSA’S CAR**

            She’s holding her phone to her ear, exhaustedly calling out Claudia’s name, her eyes growing heavier. The phone dropped in her lap. The Dream Sorcerer appeared in the passenger seat beside her.

           _“It’s almost time, Melissa_.” He whispered as if speaking to a sleeping child, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “ _We’re almost there.”_

Headlights flashing in her eyes and the sound of a horn blaring jerked Melissa awake. She yanked the wheel out of oncoming traffic. She pulled the phone out of her lap and yelled, nearly in tears,

“Claudia, where are you!”

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

Claudia was slowly backing away from David. Her arm out and her phone against her chest.

           “What have you done to me?!” He screamed, tearing at his hair. He picks up a vase of flowers and throws it at her. She quickly moves it away with her hand to shatter on the wall before it could hit her. While she was distracted, David was walking towards her. He was almost on her when she flicked her wrist and he went flying. He hit the wall where the vase broke and landed on the glass.

           David was momentarily knocked unconscious. She lifted the phone to her ear while still keeping an eye on him.

            “Melissa? Melissa!”

            She wasn’t there.

**MELISSA’S CAR**

           Melissa was asleep at the wheel, the phone once again in her lap. The Dream Sorcerer was back. He gently lowered her head to where it rested on the steering wheel. He kept his hand on the base of her neck, smiling.

           “ _Say good night, Melissa.”_

He’s laughing as she heads for a utility pole.

**STILINSKI FAMILY HOME**

            Claudia screamed when she heard the impact. She collapsed on the stairs, shaking. Above her, she could hear the thunderous pounding of the boys and Malia coming down the stairs.

            “Mom!” Stiles shouted. He knelt down by her. “Mom?”

            She looked up at Scott.

**MELISSA’S CAR**

           The front of her car is completely smashed, wraping around the pole. The windshield was cracked and there was glass everywhere from the windows. Melissa had her head resting on the airbag. Unable to move, she kept muttering to herself,

           “I can’t fall asleep. I can't fall asleep.”

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

          Melissa was strapped down on a stretcher and rolled into the E.R. Her head was in a bright orange brace and she was covered in a grey shock blanket. There was a bloody bandage on her forehead, a nasal cannula taped to her nose, and several IVs sticking out of her arms. Nancy Calhoun, an EMT she’s friendly with, and her partner Joe are pushing her down the corridor. Doctor Jeffries rushes down the hallway, yelling to the EMTs.

            “Trauma one. What have you got?”

           Nancy hands the chart to Jeffries as she spouts off the vitals. “Melissa McCall. One-on-one; car versus utility pole. Bp 80 over 40. Pulse 110. Semi-conscious at the scene.”

           Jeffries shines a pin-light in Melissa’s eyes. “Pupils are responsive. Melissa, hang in there.

           “Must stay awake…must stay awake.” Melissa was muttering to herself. She could see the overhead lights rushing by her, but everything else was blurring.

Jeffries runs into trauma room 1 and spouts off orders to a male nurse. Nancy and Joe push Melissa in moments later. They roll her to the bed and clear the area. Jeffires and the male nurse were on one side of the gurney and Joe and Nancy were on the other. They gripped the handles and counted down.

           “Ready, 3, 2, 1.”

           They lifted her on the bed and hooked her up to the machines.

           A second doctor came into the room to assist. “Resps are down to thirty-five. Pulse-ox is falling.”

           “How can that be?” Jeffires asked, astonished. She snaps her fingers and points at a nurse. “Give me five hundred mics of dopamine, and get ready to intubate.” She leaned over and touched Melissa’s shoulder. “Stay with us, Melissa.” She flipped open and eyelid to check response. “Damn, she's unconscious!”

**DREAM**

           The trauma room spins into her nightmare. When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a gurney with the bandage no longer dripping blood and the nasal cannula still in her nose. She slowly looked around, her eyes fluttering.

           “How did I get here? I’m not-”

           “ _Asleep?”_ The Dream Sorcerer walked up to her gurney. He smiled down at her. _“Actually you’re unconscious. You fell asleep at the wheel. Hit a pole. Terrible, t_ errible _thing._ ” The smile dropped from his face. “ _Speaking of pain, you really hurt me last night_.” He gently touched the stitches on his neck. “ _And not just my feelings.”_

           “Suffer,” Melissa growled.

He chuckled. On the instrument table beneath the IV drip, he picked up a glass of wine. He held it out to her with a condescending smile. “ _A little wine with your death_?”

Melissa smacked it out of his hand. All humor dropped from his face. He prowled around to the edge of the gurney.

 _“You shouldn’t have done that_.”

He gripped the handles at the bottom and began to run, pushing the gurney closer to the edge.

**UNIVERSITY DREAM LAB**

            John and Parrish are standing in the observation room, arguing with the technician. Behind the glass, Berman laid in a gurney with probes attached to him. His eyes were rolling beneath his lids and his heartbeat sounded rapidly on the machine.

           “Mr. Berman insists that he's not to be disturbed during his experiments!” The technician yelled again.

           “I don't care, we want to talk to him.” John took a menacing step forward. “Just wake him up.”

           The technician shifted uncomfortably. “I-It's not gonna be easy. He's heavily sedated.”

           “Just get to work.” Parrish told him.

           The technician huffs as walks into the room. Parrish puts his hand on the glass and leans into it. He watched for any wrong move the tech made.

           “I hope you're right about this.” John said. He pulled up a rolley chair and sat down.

           “I know I am. Question now is if Berman is gonna kill again. But who?”

**MELISSA’S DREAM**

            Melissa’s shock blanket had been ripped off her. Her bandages and wires had disappeared, along with the pain. She looked down and saw she was wearing a slinky black dress encrusted with silver.

           “ _Do you like the dress_?”

           “I’ve worn better.”

He smiles cruelly down at her. He leaned down and wrapped his arms under her. She tried fighting him, but again she was powerless. He picked her off the bed and held her to him, slowly swaying as if there were music.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

            Claudia, Scott, and Isaac were hurriedly rushing through the hallways, trying to find someone that could help them. Stiles and Malia stayed behind to get rid of unconscious David and clean up and repair what they could. Finally, they found a nurse’s station.

            “Excuse me!” She flagged down a nurse that was leaving. “Excuse me.”

           “May I help you?” He asked. He looked her up and down, judging her. She looked like a clubber with two young boys. Claudia didn’t have time to deal with that.

           “Melissa McCall. Where is she?”

            “Honey, if you’re not family, I can’t let you anywhere near her.”

            “We’re her sons, _honey._ ” Isaac growled. “Is that family enough?”

Scott slapped his hand down on the desk. “Where is she?”

           “Trauma one.” He pointed to the small waiting room a couple doors down. “Wait in there and a doctor will be out.”

            “Is she okay?”

            “Wait for the doctor.” The nurse picked up his files and walked away.

            Claudia glared at the nurse’s back. She had half the mind to use her power to wrap that stethoscope around his neck and not let go until he was purple. But she didn’t have the time for that.

They backed away from the nurses’ station. Claudia gestured for the boys to follow her. They pretended to walk towards the waiting room, but when no one was looking, they ran down the restricted hallway to trauma one.

**UNIVERSITY DREAM LAB**

           Parrish was banging on the window.

            “Mr. Berman! Mr. Berman, wake up!” Parrish angrily walked over to the technician. “I don't care what it takes, just wake him up. Now!”

John started to bang on the window as Parrish dealt with the technician. “Berman, wake up!”

**MELISSA’S DREAM**

            Melissa’s back was pressed to the Dream Sorcerer’s chest. He held her head to the side, exposing her neck so that he could kiss it. Around them, they could hear someone banging on a window and shouting,

           _“Wake up, Berman! Wake up!”_

           “John?” Melissa looked around. She was slipping faster and faster.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORAIL HOSPITAL**

**TRAUMA ROOM 1**

Melissa was lying in her hospital, unconscious and connected to multiple machines. They quietly beeped, filling the silent air. Claudia stood over her, stroking her hair and holding her hand, careful of the wires.

           “I’m here, Mell, right beside you.”

            Outside, there were loud thundering of feet and the shouting of hospital staff. She didn’t bother to look, knowing it was probably the rest of the pack. Stiles must have called them. It got quite as they reached the room. Claudia looked up and saw mixed emotions in their faces – horror, shock, confusion, panic.

            Claudia continued to whisper, “Your sons are here, Mell.”

            “Mom?” Scott asked. He stood on the other side of her and picked up her hand. Isaac sat at the foot of her bed, his hand on her leg.

            “Can you hear us?”

**MELISSA’S DREAM**

           “ _Mom?”_ A voice drifted through the air.

           “Scott….Isaac….” She tried pushing herself off the Dream Sorcerer, but he chuckled.

           _“They can’t help you. You’re mine, now_.” He picked her up around the waist and spun her. Her head lolled back onto her shoulder. He carried her like that to the edge.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

**TRAUMA ROOM 1**

           “I’m scared.” Isaac said, looking up Scott. Scott kept his eyes on Melissa, stroking her hand.

           “I know,” Claudia offered him her hand and a weak smile. He took her hand and squeezed. “Me too.”

           “What do we do?” Scott asked barely above a whisper. “Why’d this happen?

            “How was that guy back there?” Isaac asked.

           “The most important thing is that we don’t let her give up.” She squeezed Isaac’s hand and glanced between the two of them. “I’ll explain everything later, but for right now you have to trust me. Can you do that?” When they both nodded, she looked back at Melissa. “Mell, listen to me. You’ve got to fight with this guy.”

“Don’t leave us.” Isaac said.

           “You can do it.” Scott whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek.

           “We need you.”

           “Come back to us.”

**MELISSA’S DREAM**

She could hear her son’s voices around her, encouraging her to fight, to come back to them.

 _“You can do it, Mell,”_ Claudia’s voice was added to the mix. _“You can fight him.”_

           “ _You're powerless.”_ The Dream Sorcerer reminded her. He hand her standing on the ledge, her face in between his hands.

           _“Mom, you can do it.”_ Scott pushed her on. _“Mom?”_

            _“You’re stronger than him….”_ She could feel Isaac’s hand in hers, yet when she looked down it wasn’t there.

           _“Shall I say good night_?” He kissed her forehead.

            _“Mom, don’t leave us,”_ Scott begged.

           “No, let me.” She raised her hand slowly and deliberately. He was too stunned to say anything. She laid it on his cheek. “Good night.”

           With all that she had behind her hand – her hatred of him, her love for her children, and the primal desire to live – she shoved him away. Caught off guard by her sudden ability to resist him, he stumbled back. He took too many steps and fell backwards over the edge of the building.

            She closed her eyes and turned away.

**UNIVERSITY DREAM LAB**

            In the experiment room, Berman was screaming in his sleep. He thrashed violently, tearing out tubes and knocking over machinery. As suddenly as it had begun, he flopped back on the gurney. Motionless. The monitor beside him flat-lined.

           “I don't believe it.” Parrish said, leaning in closer to the window.

“He's dead.” John looked away.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORAIL HOSPITAL**

**TRAUMA ROOM 1**

            Amid the flourish of beeping machines, Melissa wakes up. Her eyes are glancing around the room, trying to find a familiar face in the haze.

           “Mom?” Scott took her hand and squeezed, leaning over her so that she could see him.

            Claudia moved out of the way and motioned for Isaac to take her spot. He eagerly took his mother’s hand.

            “Are you okay?”

           “Yeah,” She slowly nodded her head, squeezing her sons’ hands reassuringly. “I’m okay.”

           “And the man?” Claudia asked softly.

           Melissa hesitated for a moment. A few tears rolled out of the corner of her eye. “He’s gone.”

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

**THE NEXT DAY**

Claudia was hazardously rolling dozens of flowers into Melissa’s room on a plastic grey trolley. Melissa put down her trash magazine and laughed.

“Please tell me those are the ones from my house?”

“No,” Claudia stepped out from behind the cart. “My landlord was pissed when these cluttered up the hallway. There’s more still in his office.”

“If you’re not careful, he’ll evict you.”

Claudia waved that off as she sat on the edge of Melissa’s bed. “When are the boys picking you up?”

“Tomorrow, before they head out for their party.” Melissa groaned. “Jeffries says one more day of observation.”

“Well, it wouldn’t kill you to get some rest…..” Claudia cheekily said, looking away.

            Melissa swatted her with the magazine. “Very funny.” She leaned back against her pillows. “Did you reverse the spell?”

            Claudia nodded. “This morning. I think we both learned our lesson.”

            “What? Not to tick off the ‘powers that be’ or whatever they call themselves.”

            “That’s one lesson,” Claudia smiled. “Another could be that love can’t be conjured or synthesized. What we did, it’s just... it wasn’t right.”

            “That’s that last time I listen to you,” Melissa pointed at her, fake scolding with her eyes.

            “It was your idea, Miss I-Found-This-On-The-Internet!”

            They were laughing too loudly to hear someone come up to the door.

            “Knock, knock.” Someone said as they knocked on the open door. Claudia’s back stiffened slightly hearing the familiar voice. Melissa’s face fell, glancing between Claudia and the new comer. “Oh, Claudia, I….I didn’t know you were here.”

            Claudia turned around and smiled pleasantly. “It’s okay, John. You can come in.”

            John walked around the trolley of flowers and into the room. He looked different. He was out of his uniform and wearing plain trousers with a navy sweater. In one hand he held take-out and in the other were daisies.

            “I was actually on my way out,” Claudia said quickly.

            “Claudia-”

            Claudia mustered up a smile for Melissa on her way out the door. “Bye John.”

            He waved as she left. After a silent moment watching his ex-wife leave, he turned back to Melissa. “I can go-”

            “No.” Melissa said a bit louder than intended. She softened her voice. “You’re fine.”

            John gave her a small smile. “If I had known you had this many flowers, I would have stuck to the take-out.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous; I could never have too many flowers.” She sniffed the flowers and smiled. She could tell they were from Telly’s by the sweet peach smell. That was her favorite flower shop. She looked around for something to put them in. She put them neatly in her water cup.

            John shook his head and chuckled. “And I brought your favorite.”

         He places the bag in her lap and she looks in it. She sighs contently. “Oh, cheeseburgers and fries.”

            “Good thing I’m the Sheriff or else the docs would have me escorted out of here.”

            “Good thing,” she repeated, handing him a fry. It was one of the soggy ones, his favorite.


	13. Chapter 12

            Claudia’s heart broke seeing John at the hospital for Melissa. It was torn in half and shattered the moment she realized what was going on. Her husband and he best friend…. _ex_ - _husband_. To them, she had been dead for years and had learned to cope without her. But to Claudia, nearly no time at all has passed. The world around her was alien, her son had inherited her burden, and the man she loved was in love with someone else.

            There was nothing in this new world she found familiar and comforting. It was all cold. Everything hurt. She recognized no one, not even herself. She wandered the city street, confused and alone, for hours until she found what she was unconsciously looking for. Someplace safe, someone familiar.

* * *

 

            Peter felt her presence like a sledgehammer. It knocked the wind from his chest, he had to brace himself against the tiled shower wall. He turned off the scalding hot water and hung his head and breathed deep.

            There she was. _Claudia._ He followed the scent of lavender down the corridors; followed her broken heartbeats, her uneasy footsteps, her hitched breathing.

            Peter quickly got out of the shower. He found a discarded pair of trousers by his bed and hastily tugged them on, not bothering with the clasps. He was at the door and opening it before she had the chance to knock.

            His surprise gave way to overwhelming relief she was here before molding into concern. She stood in front of him, red eyes wide with hurt and confusion. Her lovely mouth opened and closed several times as she fought to get words out. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes darted around as she pulled her arms tighter around her. Finally, she looked up at him.

            Seeing Peter’s concern etched on his familiar face broke the last of whatever reserve she had. She began sobbing uncontrollably. She reached out for him with a shaky hand. Like lightening, he stepped out of his doorway and pulled her into his embrace. He held her close to his chest, his arms protectively wrapping around her, his head softly nuzzling her hair in reassuring strokes.

           Her eyes shut tightly and she held on to him just as fiercely. She could have sworn she was leaving nail marks in his bare back from how hard her clung. If it bothered Peter, he gave no indication of it.

           It was a while before Claudia was calm enough to breath without shaking. Peter held her face in his hands and tilted it up so he could look at her. With his thumbs, he stroked away the tear stains from her cheeks. He did the same when water droplets fell from his hair.

          She let he eyes flutter close and leaned into his palms. Peter leaned in forehead against hers and closed his eyes as well. Her hot breath washed over his cool skin, warming him from to outside in. She placed her hand over his heart and felt the comforting beats beneath her palm.

          She felt safe with him. She felt at home. She knew what he wanted – _her_ , forever and always – and she gave it to him. Because, in a way, she wanted him, too.

* * *

 

        Peter silently laid naked on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His hand was outstretched beside him across the bed and was lazily running his fingers over Claudia’s lower back as she sat up on the edge of the bed. They had been silent for nearly an hour now while Peter let her process.

         He turned his head to her and confessed, “I never stopped loving you.”

         She remained silent, her back slightly stiffening under his touch. He dropped his hand and returned his gaze to the ceiling. “But you already knew that.”

        “Yes,” she whispered over her shoulder.

 


	14. Chapter 13

**SIX WEEKS LATER – FRIDAY MORNING**

**APARTMENT OF CLAUDIA COLE**

**MASTER BATHROOM**

            Stiles groggily walked into his mother’s room and towards the bathroom door. He knocked, calling out,

            “Mom, are you still in there?”

            Stiles’ bathroom was ‘temporarily’ broken. They’ve been waiting on the super to fix it, but it’s been over a week. Claudia had hoped to have it fixed by the time Stiles’ showed up to spend the week with her.

            “Mom?” Stiles asked again.

            On the other side of the door, Claudia was standing in front of the mirror with a pregnancy test in one hand and the instructions in the other.

           “I’m almost done.”

           “Define _almost_.”

“Just give me another minute...” She looked down at the test. Nothing was showing up so she shook it. “Or two.”

The ‘One Step Pregnancy Test’ box she was holding said that accurate results for a positive reading come in as early as one minute, while negative results are confirmed in three.

           “You’re positive?”

           “I hope not.” Claudia muttered under her breath.

            “Mom, I _cannot_ be late today.”

           “I know the feeling…” She looked at the door to distract herself from history repeating itself. “Since when are you in a hurry to get to school?”

            “Everything’s been quiet on the supernatural front since the Hale vault heist. Lydia’s been getting strange, I don’t know what to call them, ‘messages’? Banshee signals? They’re becoming more frequent so we think something’s about to go down soon. Not to mention she’s stressed out about this ‘biannual action’ thing at work so that’s not helping-”

            “So you’re not hurrying to school but to a fight?”

            “Can _you_ hurry?”

“Just use _your_ bathroom, Stiles!”

“It’s broken, remember?” Stiles groaned. “When’s the super coming by, again?”

Claudia wasn’t sure, but she responded with, “He’ll be up sometime this weekend.”

It was quiet for a moment. Claudia thought Stiles had left so she took a deep breath and concentrated on the test in front of her, willing the little lines to activate. She needed to know what to do so….so she could take care of the situation.

“Mom?” Stiles banged on the door again, causing Claudia to jump and drop the stick.

“Stiles!” Claudia yelled, bending down to pick up the stick. “I’ll be right out.”

“Is there any hot water left?”

Frustrated, Claudia threw the pregnancy test box into the small trash can by the toilet, pocketed the test, and opened the doors. Stiles looked terrible – messy hair sticking up on all sides, dark circle underneath his eyes, exhaustion seemed to seep from his pours. He held a bag of toiletries in his hand.

“What?”

“Am I in for a cold shower? Yes or no?”

“At certain times in our life, a cold shower is probably a good thing.”

Claudia walked around him into her bedroom. Stiles turned to her in the doorway and like a smart-ass replied, “Not three mornings in a row.”

He closed the door behind him but not before he saw his mother’s back straighten. He started brushing his teeth when he noticed the box in the trash can. Curious, he picked it up.

“One Step Preg-” Stiles’ head cut to the door.

His head starts spinning. Peter’s apartment, their previous history…she was with him the night of the vault robbery almost six weeks ago. Derek even mentioned Peter looking a little worse, more drunk and angry than normal. Maybe it wasn’t entirely about the robbery, but it was also about Claudia.

That if she is pregnant, this time it was actually Peter Hale’s kid.

**KITCHEN**

            Every useable surface of the kitchen was taken up by pans upon pans of baked goods and finger food appetizers. Since being promoted to the ranks of manager, she’s taken up a considerable amount of responsibility at Hastings. Ideally, she wanted to be in the kitchen actually making the food instead of handling business.

            Stiles cautiously walked into the kitchen. While he was showering, he as coming up with ways this wasn’t a complete and total disaster. It was bad enough just imagining Peter was his father, but now that it might actually be a reality for his future half-sibling….He didn’t want to come right out and accuse Claudia of having (another) affair with the lunatic, because that worked out _so_ well last time. No. He was going to skirt around the subject, hinting at it, toying with it, before he man-ed up enough to face his mom.

            The landline rang as Stiles walked in. Claudia smiled warmly at him, saying “Fresh pot of coffee”, before taking the phone call.

            He made himself a cup (half coffee, half cream, three packs of sugar) while he listened to her side of the brief conversation. “Claudia C-…yeah…okay, bye.”

            Stiles made a grab for one of the hor’s d’ouevres that were cooling on a rack. Claudia put the phone back on the hook and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and taking a step back.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

            “You okay, mom?”

            “Yeah, sweetie.” Claudia opened her eyes and brushed back hair from her face. “Just wedding nerves.”

            “Yours or…”

            Claudia slapped Stiles’ hand before it touched the d’ouevres. “The Elliot and Allison Spencer Wedding.”

            “The hot-shot?”

            “That would be the one. Too bad Chef Craig is on his way to France.”

“What does that mean for you?”

Chef Craig was the head chef of Hastings and one of the many reasons it is as popular as it is. His food was phenomenal. Claudia’s was, too, of course, but Chef Craig had the flamboyant personality to go with his insane creations.

Claudia bit her lip and nodded. “It means that since the contract is technically with Hastings, he is off hook and I’m on the line. Now I have to tell one of the richest families in the city that the chef they hired can’t do their wedding.” She threw a dish towel in the sink. “They’re stuck with me and I hope they go for it.”

“Bright side?” Stiles asked. Claudia waved her hand. “Who else can they hire in twenty-four hours?”

“Thanks, honey, you’re a real ray of sunshine.”

Stiles chuckled. “Need any help? I know plenty of attractive young people willing to be rented out for $10 an hour.”

“I would love nothing more than to rent Derek for the evening-” Stiles face screwed up in disgust and Claudia laughed, “but since Lydia’s Spidey-sense are tingling, I think the pack should focus on this for the time being.”

“Alright,” Stiles kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’m off. See you tonight.”

“Stay safe. Have a good day-” She tried to say but the front door closed. “-at school.”

**BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL**

            Kira sat down beside Lydia as she pulled out her Mac computer out of her bag. The screen turned on and a word document with strange symbols opened. The symbols began to type themselves out after a minute of Kira staring at them. She looked up at Lydia, who was also starring intensely at the screen.

            “If these are your math notes, no wonder Malia is failing.”

            Lydia shook her head. “Some of these are my notes but the rest of these…I think they might be code.”

            “You don’t remember writing it?”

            “Not in the slightest.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled darkly at Kira. “But then again, Banshee me isn’t very clear on most things. I’m thinking about changing my middle name to vague.”

            “Well, we should probably figure out what this means before it tries to kill us all.”

            “It’ll have to take a number, sister,” Lydia muttered as she fussed around with the document.

            The two continued to scan through the coded document, taking out Lydia’s irrelevant math notes from it, though the bell ringing and the start of the period. They, like nearly everyone else in the room, paid little attention to what was actually going on. Half the period had gone by before one of them thought of a solution.

            “Maybe it’s an enigma code?” Kira suggested. “Like the ones the allies used during World War Two.”

            Lydia looked mildly surprised. Kira shrugged. “Dad’s a World War Two buff. And my mom, well, she actually lived it.”

            “It makes sense, but,” Lydia bit her lip and scrolled to a section of coding, “I think it’s a variation on something called ‘Vigènere Cipher’.”

            “Do you know how to crack it?”

            Lydia raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and quipped, “With a key.”

**PAVILLIAN**

           The pack, minus Derek, was sitting around a picnic table in the outdoor pavilion, eating their lunch and having a good time. Isaac was bragging about how a couple girls from his history class invited him to a party tonight. He kept throwing out the location and time, making Scott think Isaac wanted someone to go with him. Isaac doesn’t do well around new people, even if they are attractive girls.

            “I’ll go,” Lydia pitched in. She wrapped her lips around the straw of her smoothie. “I could use a break from all this Banshee decryption nonsense.”

            “Don’t you have that action thingy tomorrow?” Malia asked around a mouthful of hamburger. “Sounded important.”

            Lydia shrugged. “It’s not until ten tomorrow morning. Plenty of time for a good time and beauty sleep.”

            “So Lydia, me,” Isaac counted. “What about you, Scott?”

            Scott looked at Kira hopefully. “I can’t watch another movie. The cuddling I like, but-”

            “We’re in,” Kira cut him off, glancing around to Isaac.

            “You coming?” Malia asked Stiles, taking a curly fry off his plate.

            She expected him to grab her hand like he always did when she touched his fries, but this time he didn’t react. In fact, Stiles had spent the entire lunch period starring off into space and picking at his Glad shrink-wrapped turkey sandwich.

            “Hello?” Malia waved the curly fry in his face. “Stiles?”

            “Hm?” Stiles jumped, snapping out of his thoughtful daze. “What? What’d you say?”

            “Is everything okay, Stiles?” Scott asked.

            “What makes you think everything’s not okay?” Stiles scoffed in his usual joking manner.

            “Because Malia stole a fry-”

            “Because you look like a zombie,” Malia cut across Scott. “Not the cool kind; more like the ‘Walking Dead’ kind.”

            “Yeah, you do look like of dead…” Kira mused, looking him over. “No offense!”

            “Some slightly taken,” Stiles muttered underneath his breath.

            He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, hoping to change the subject but knew that wasn’t going to happen. He sighed. Who else could he possibly tell about his ridiculous family troubles? Hell, Isaac’s adopted; how bad could this be, right? Everyone at the table was pretty messed up, family wise, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to tell them.

            “What I’m about to tell you can NOT be repeated to _anyone_. Not your parents, priest, counselor…not even Derek.”

            “Why not Derek?” Malia asked, confused. Being cousins, they’ve been spending more time together – training, tutoring, ‘how to be a were-’ basics.

            “Now you’re freaking me out,” Scott said. “What’s going on?”

            “It’s about my mom,” Stiles started off slowly, “and Peter….”

**APARTMENT OF CLAUDIA COLE**

**LIVING ROOM**

            “Mom!” Stiles called out as he walked through the front door. He dropped his book bag by the door and hung up his jacket.

            “In here, sweetie!” His mother called back.

            Stiles found her in the living room wearing her P.J.s, her hair in a messy bun, glasses on, and mounds of papers and books surrounding her. It looked like she was holding an expense report in her hand.

            “Hey, baby, how was school?” Claudia asked.

            “Same old same.” Stiles said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily as he watched his mother. She was in her own little world at the moment so she paid his no attention. He took the moment to look her over.

            If she was pregnant, shouldn’t she be glowing of something? Her breasts would get bigger, but Stiles doesn’t pay attention to that part of his mother; her mood and appetite would change, too. Maybe it was too early in the pregnancy to tell? Maybe she wasn’t pregnant at all?

            “What’re you doing?” Claudia asked. She took off her glasses and looked up at her son.

            “Just wondering what’s for dinner,” Stiles shrugged it off after a moment.

            Claudia checked her watch. “Shoot.” She shuffled her papers and placed them haphazardly on the already crowded coffee table. “Sorry, baby. Time just seemed to get passed.”

            “No, no,” Stiles held out his hand to stop her from getting up. “I’ll cook.”

            Claudia was dumbfounded. Her mouth opened and closed several times, not knowing what to say.

            “Yeah,” Stiles smiled. “I’ll cook.”

**PARTY**

            Isaac wasn’t the most straight-forward guy when it came to giving out information. He wasn’t lying about there being a party, or that there were pretty girls. What he failed to mention was that everyone at the party was fifteen or sixteen years old.

            It was a freshmen party and the pack were the only upperclassmen around.

            Isaac was dragged into the mosh-pit, if you could call it that, in the living room as soon as he arrived. Kira and Scott went off to the boathouse after a while, leaving Malia and Lydia to stick together. That would have been fine if Malia hadn’t ditched Lydia to hustle a game of corn-hole in the front yard.

            For the next hour or so, Lydia was surrounded by horny fifteen year olds that tried, and failed miserably, to get into her pants as she watched Malia’s game. When she couldn’t control her desire to strangle all of them, including Isaac, she made her excuses and headed into the kitchen. One boy tried to follow her, but she told him she had ‘lady business’ to take care of. He wasn’t taking the hint so Lydia flat-out told him she was changing her tampon. That freaked him out enough to go crawling back to his friends.

            Lydia smiled. Not the nicest way to get rid of someone, but it was a damn near perfect one.

            In the kitchen, Lydia arrived in time to see a large, overly-hairy man in a grey jumpsuit roll in a keg of beer. She could tolerate a lot of things at a party as crappy as this, but alcohol was not one of them. Hell, when she was there age she threw better parties.

            “Okay,” Lydia said, walking over to the man. “No one ordered a keg of beer. _Especially_ not domestic.”

            “Somebody ordered it,” the grumbled. He looked around the crowded house and raised an eyebrow. “Tryn’ to tell me there’s no one here that wants to drink?”

            “ _Everyone_ here is under eighteen, so yeah, no one’s drinking.”

            “Look lady, someone ordered, I delivered, now I get paid.”

            “Okay, mountain man-” Lydia was ready to go off on Grizzly Bear Jones when she saw Isaac being lead upstairs by a pretty blonde. “Aw hell no.”

            As much as she hated the wolf-pup at the moment and wanted to ruin his ‘good time’ with the girl, she knew for a fact the girl was fifteen and had a deputy as a father. Isaac was eighteen and a known ‘bad boy’. If those two went through with what they’re about to do and the girl lets it slip to her dad…..

            Isaac was a lot of things, but a statutory rapist was not one of them. If he wasn’t going to think with his upstairs head tonight, Lydia would have to do it for him.

            She held her finger up to the beer guy and went after Isaac.

**OUTSIDE**

            The beer distributer rolled his empty stand back to his truck. One of the kids, a blonde Ken-doll type, came up to him after the red head left. Paid him two hundred extra as a ‘yes you do look twenty-one’ fee. Not bad for a night’s work.

            He smiled and tossed the stand into the back of his truck. He was fishing his keys out of his pocket when he noticed his front tire was flat.

            “Son of a bitch,” he groaned. He got closer and noticed it was slashed. “Son of a bitch!”

            Anger and rage swelled up inside of him. He could feel it bubbling in his chest, rising up from the pit of his stomach. His head began to pound to the thunderous pace of his heartbeat, accelerating in his rage.

            “Ah!” He doubled over on to the side of his truck, clutching his head.

            He could feel it happening. The change was being brought out because of his anger. His nails extended, his teeth grew into razor sharp points, and his face contorted into that of a beast. His eyes glowed the vibrant yellow of an innocent beta were-wolf.

            He knew this was bad. His anger prompted the transformation very rarely when the full moon wasn’t involved. He was in public and transforming. He needed to get control of himself before the beast did.

            He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the edge of his truck for support, chanting underneath his breath, “three things that cannot be long hidden – the sun, the moon, the truth.”

            Every were-child was taught this prayer since birth, tying them to reality and help anchor them into controlling their transformation. At his age, he should have had a handle on his control by now, but he held onto this teaching as a safety-blanket of sorts when his anger got bad. It seemed to be the only thing to calm him down.

            “Three things that cannot be hidden long – the sun, the moon, the truth,” he panted over and over again until his claws receded, his fangs retracted, and his face began to normalize.

            He collapsed to his knees, exhausted. Pinpricks of sweat rolled down his forehead. He chuckled to himself, smiling –

            A razor wire wrapped around his throat, cutting into is skin, bleeding him. He couldn’t breathe. Gasping, choking, madly clawing at the thin wire around neck. Pressure began to build behind his eyes, making them bloodshot and bulge. His tongue flounder outside of his mouth. Strangulation wasn’t a pretty thing.

            He tried clawing at the wire with one hand, tearing his own skin in the process, while the other hand tried to gouge the attacker. The attacker moved, violently pulling him backwards to cease his defense.

            Feeling he was close to the end, he dragged his nails across his car’s window. The razor wire began to heat up. He could smell his flesh burning, see the smoke rising. The wire glowed red hot, slicing easily into him, decapitating him within seconds with one final yank.

            His head rolled off his body and landed on the pavement, his body following suite a moment later. Smoke still rose from the corpse in white wisps.

            The attacker, a young woman, pulled out her phone and took a picture. She sent it out and waited for a response. She toyed with the body, nudging it with her boot. Patience wasn’t in her skill set. It was bad enough getting the call through to the right person then having the wait around for him to deliver the keg. She had bent down to clean the wire on his grimy, beer stained shirt when the text she’d been waited for came in.

            _“Money transfer complete.”_

            She smiled. “Thank you….Benefactor.”

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

**NIGHT – JOHN’S OFFICE**

            Sheriff John Stilinski was enjoying the quiet night with a cup of coffee and the latest _Watch Tower_ newspaper crossword puzzle. For the first time in a long while, he was able to forget about the supernatural craziness that’s plagued his town. Six weeks of the boring, average police work his department excelled at. The mundane. The dull, ordinary, everyday, run-of-the-mill, small town misdemeanors.

            Six weeks of silence.

            John was getting to a seven letter word that describes the indication of something bad about to happen, when his computer began to beep at him. He thought it was the software update reminder again and ignored it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a green, blinking light in the bottom left drawer of his desk.

            John put the crossword puzzle down and cautiously opened the drawer. Inside was the wristband-keyboard of the assassin that attacked Peter Hale with a tomahawk a couple months ago. The screen on the device was blinking the digital green.

            Derek had hooked up the device to John’s computer so he could monitor any activity. The incident being two months ago and getting caught up in the delightful silence of the town, John had forgotten about it. Until no, that is.

            John pulled up the notice that had alerted him on the screen. It brought him to the black page with white texts of code that John couldn’t understand. At the bottom of the screen, beside the handle name ‘Benefactor’, three ominous words ‘ _money transfer complete’_ appeared.

            The last time those three words appeared, Peter Hale had been robbed of $117 million dollars.

            John pulled out his cell and keyed in Derek’s number. Something was about to go down and it wasn’t going to be good.

**PARTY**

**UPSTAIRS BEDROOM**

            Lydia found Isaac and the girl in one of the back guest bedrooms. They were still standing with all their clothes on, which was a minor miracle, when she entered.

            “Easy there, lover boy.”

            “Whoa!” Isaac said, breaking away from the passionate lip-lock he was in. “Lydia?!”

            “Rooms occupied,” the girl snarked.

            Lydia ignored her and focused on Isaac. She put her hand on her hip and tilted her head. “So are jail cells, but I’m sure they’ll make room for you.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “She’s underage, moron!” Lydia waved at the twig of a girl. “You could go to jail on statutory rape since you’re eighteen.”

            “What?” Isaac let go of the girl completely, taking a step back. He looked from Lydia, to the girl, then back to Lydia. “Seriously?”

            “She’s lying,” the girl pleaded, pawing at Isaac. When he put his hands up, signaling he wasn’t interested, she turned to Lydia. “Jealous bitch!”

            “Oh honey,” Lydia sighed. “Take it downstairs.”

            The girl huffed, and the verge of tears. She marched up to Lydia and before either her or Isaac could react, slapped Lydia across the face.

            “Why’s you have to ruin this!” The girl yelled before storming off.

            Lydia clutched her cheek, tears threatening to break free. Isaac went to her. He crouched down to her level to get a better look at her cheek.

            “Let me see,” he kept telling her, trying to move her hand. “Let me see.”

            But Lydia couldn’t hear him. Everything had gone silent – the vibrant party noise, the thundering music, Isaac’s voice. She was in complete silence. Yet….the wall was drawing her in. There was nothing remarkable about the wall, a bland white color with a turn table beneath, but she felt compelled to go to it.

            She gently pushed Isaac aside and walked towards it, taking slow, cautious steps. The turn table began to make a deep noise, yet she could see that it wasn’t moving. She reached out and turned it on. The vinyl disc dropped and the needle scratched the surface. It wasn’t music that played, but voices. Like the record was speaking to her in broken sentences, fractured words, muffled voices; like there was someone trying to warn her.

            She heard scratches from behind the wall. She looked up, slowly, afraid of what she might find. The wall was bare one moment and then the next there were faces pressing out of it. The faces pressed out of the wall like one would press something through rubber; you could see the basic shape, yet the wall held. Multiple faces appeared, this time there covered mouths moving in sync with their muffled words on the record.

**BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL**

            John, with Derek by his side, pushed open the heavy blue doors of the high school and entered with his flashlight raised high. Parrish was able to trace the IP to the school’s Wi-Fi. On the long shot the assassin was here, John hit the road, calling Derek on the way to meet him there.

            Two pair entered slowly, John raising his weapon to pear around corners. Derek didn’t need a gun since he was a living weapon.

            “You know,” Derek said as casually as he walked. “Just because this guy connected to the school’s Wi-Fi doesn’t mean he’s still here.”

            “True,” John peered down another corridor. “But I’ve seen enough happen in this school to keep my gun drawn walkin’ in after dark.”

            As John’s flashlight skimmed over a classroom, its light caught something shiny on the ground. Getting closer, he felt his heart beat faster.

            “Like blood.”

            There was a pool of the crimson liquid slowly inching its way from underneath the door. They stopped in front of the door. John checked in all directions for a threat as Derek puzzled over the blood.

            “It doesn’t make sense.”

            “Yeah, no kidding.”

            “No, that’s not what I mean.” Derek shook his head. “I should have caught the scent before we walked in.”

            John looked over at Derek. Derek motioned his head to indicate he was going to go in. John nodded and stood back, offering the light and support from his gun. Derek placed his hand on the silver handle. Taking a deep breath, he turned it –

            “Hold on,” John came forward and placed his hand on Derek’s to stop him. “You nervous makes _me_ nervous. Let’s see what we’re dealing with first, okay?”

            Derek took a step back to allow the Sheriff some room. John held his light up to the small window in the door. He looked around as much of the classroom as he could, finding nothing out of place except the blood on the floor. Yet he only had a limited view. There could be something else….but they wouldn’t know until they went in.

            John nodded to Derek. They put their backs against the wall beside the door. John reached out with his flashlight hand to turn the handle while still keeping his gun aimed high. He was lucky he was cautious in opening the door or else he wouldn’t have seen the hair-thin wire that was wrapped around the door handle.

            Derek crouched down to get a better look. On the ground, connected to the door’s wire and several other wires, was an IED.

            “It’s a bomb. Claymore.”

            Derek winced. His ears were picking up a high frequency pitch coming from somewhere behind them. He turned his head in time to see a tomahawk being thrown.

            “Get down!” He yelled, tackling John.

            John’s hand ripped away from the door and he landed hard on the titled floor. Above them he could see the tomahawk firmly implanted in the wall, the concrete crumbing around it. He twisted his head to see where it came from and found a man dressed in black jumping down from the stair case and onto the ground a couple feet a head of them. He looked just as Peter had said he looked – devoid of all bodily hair and no mouth, skin covering it smoothly where it should have been.

            He began to charge at them.

            John got up off his ass in time to be thrown down the hall and back on it. Derek, claws extended, swatted it him. The man dodged and grabbed his tomahawk out of the wall, back handing it at Derek. Derek dodged. He kept weaving through the attacks until he could maneuver around to grab the man’s arm and swing him into the lockers. Derek stood behind him, slamming the man’s head into the meatal repeatedly before throwing him onto the ground.

            The man rolled onto the feet. As he stood, Derek put his boot to the man’s chest and kicked. The man stumbled back into another set of lockers. He charged at Derek, tomahawk raised in attacked. Derek blocked, grabbing the man’s arm and turning it.

            He held the man bent over by the arm. Derek kneed him chest until the tomahawk fell with a clattering to the floor. Derek kept driving his knee into the assassin’s sternum, waiting for something to break.

            Derek saw John getting up off the floor, gun drawn. He maneuvered the man to where he had his arms pinned behind his back and stood facing the sheriff.

            Breathing heavily, John growled out, “You have the right to remain silent.”

            He kept his gun on the mouthless man as he continued to read the Miranda warning. He was busy fishing his handcuffs off his utility belt to notice another figure entering their arena. Derek looked up, smelling a familiar scent.

            “Oh shit,” he muttered, looking up to see Peter Hale standing at the end of the hallway.

            Peter dramatically extended his claws and lit his vibrant blue eyes at Derek in warning. Derek had enough time to yell for Peter to stop before he was charging at them. Derek pushed John away before he could be caught in the violent attack.

            Derek landed on top of John a couple feet away from where Peter pounced on the mouthless assassin, ripping and shredding the man mercilessly with his razor sharp talons. Blood and viscera showered Peter in a matter of seconds

            John and Derek looked on in horror at the monster in front of them. Neither one dared make a move, dared speaking or even breathing. In this state, they weren’t sure if Peter would turn his bloodlust on them.

            After the ground and adjacent lockers were drenched in as much blood as Peter was, did he finally stop. There looked to be nothing left of the man but bones, ribboned flesh, and a hollowed out chest cavity. His eyes were still that murderous blue, glowing eerily in the darkness, illuminating his insanity. His teeth were still bared and elongated into lethal fangs. Slowly, and with more consideration that his attack, he picked something out of the grotesque mess.

            It was the assassin’s skin that stretched over where his mouth should have been. He raised it in his hand, locking eyes with both John and his nephew. Peter tilted his hand so that the skin fell from the tips of his claws and back into the corpse.

            As Peter gracefully stood up and withdrew a pristine white handkerchief from his back pocket, John, too, clambered off the ground with his gun raised. He made no effort to hide his disdain and revulsion for the man.

            Peter looked behind the sheriff to his nephew. Derek’s eyes were wide, disbelieve of what he had just witness. Peter shook his head slowly from side to side, again warning Derek. Derek understood and placed his hand protectively on John’s gun arm.

            Peter stepped over the assassin’s corpse as he turned to leave, dropping the bloodied handkerchief into the carcass. As he was walking, he heard John’s gun cock.

            “We’ve learned a better way!” Derek shouted after him.

            “I’m a creature of habit,” Peter said softly, knowing only Derek would be able to hear him.

**PARTY**

**UPSTAIRS BEDROOM**

            Scott sensed something wasn’t right. He could feel it even way out in the boathouse. While he went off to investigate, he sent Kira back to the house to check on everyone. Malia had moved on from corn hole to beer pong with the new addition of the keg. She was winning and er opponent was getting thoroughly sloshed.

            She couldn’t find Isaac or Lydia by sight so Kira began calling out their names. The music blaring in every room of the house wasn’t helping.

            “That bitch is upstairs,” Kira heard someone yell back at her over the music. She turned and saw a young girl in a skimpy outfit protectively cuddling another girl, one whose black mascara and eyeliner was running down her face.

            “Excuse me?”

            “That red-haired bitch is upstairs with my man!” The other girl screamed. She turned her tear-stained face into her friend’s shirt and started crying again. The friend gave Kira the stink eye as Kira made her way upstairs.

            She finally found her friends in the back bedroom. Lydia was standing in front of blank wall, muttering softly, when Kira came in. Isaac stood protectively off to the side of her.

            “Isaac, what-” Isaac waved her hand at Kira. She ignored him. “Is she okay?”

            Isaac shrugged. “I have no idea. I think she’s doing her _banshee_ ….thing.”

            Kira stepped closer, glancing down at the spinning record. The only thing she heard coming from it was the needle scratching the grooves. She glanced back up at Lydia.

            “What do you hear?” Kira asked softly.

            “The key…” she whispered. “The key to break the code.”

            Kira and Isaac looked at each other, eyes wide. This is it. This is what they have been waiting for. They were one step closer to finding the benefactor.

            “Go find Scott,” Kira ordered, and Isaac nodded. With one last glance at Lydia, he left the room.

**APARTMENT OF CLAUDIA COLE**

            Claudia was sitting cross-legged on the couch in a pair of shorts and tank-top, glasses and messy bun. She was comfortable, able to forget all her problems and imagine she was at home – her son asleep in the next room, her husband away on work, Claudia keeping busy in the living room.

            She had her third glass of wine that evening in her hand as she put the finishing touches on her paperwork. The Elliot family had agreed to continue on with Hastings in Chef Craig’s absence as long as they had a detailed, documented record of everything Claudia did for the wedding. Cautious or rude, it was time consuming.

            She was signing her name when there was a pounding at the door. She looked up at the clock. At this hour, there shouldn’t have been anyone dropping by. The pounding came again as she put her glass of wine on the coffee table and stood up.

            She made her way slowly to the door, keeping her right hand up in case she needed to use her powers. Nothing good comes at this time of night.

            She nearly had a heart attack when she opened to door. Peter held himself up by grasping the edges on her doorframe, leaving smudged bloody handprints on the white wood. He was covered from head to boots in blood, sprayed against his skin and drenched his clothing. He lifted his head and flashed glowing blue eyes at her.

            “Got anything to drink?”

            Claudia stepped back, holding the door open, and waved him in. She left him at the door. Peter followed her through, locking the door behind him. He found her in the kitchen unscrewing a bottle of bourbon. She began to pour it into a glass but Peter waved it off. She still splashed some in a glass before sliding the bottle to him.

            Claudia put the glass to her lips and knocked it back. Peter held out the bottle to her in a toast before knocking it back.

            “How many?” Claudia asked. She turned her back to him to clean the glass in the sink. She began to fill up both sides of the sink with cold water and watched as it slowly filled.

            “Just one.” Peter began undressing. He grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He placed it on the counter before undoing his belt and emptying his pockets. He dropped those items into a glass bowl on the counter. Best to keep those away from the blood.

            “Who?”

            In one fluid motion, Peter undid his pants and dropped them to the floor. He stepped out of them as he picked up the bourbon again. AS he was heading to Claudia’s bedroom, he picked up the bourbon and said over his shoulder, “The man who stole my money.”

            Claudia hung her head, sighed, and gripped the sink edge tighter until her knuckles were white. She didn’t notice her hands were shaking until she reached out to turn off the faucet. She kept her back to Peter.

            She let out an unsteady breath she didn’t know she’d been holding until she heard the shower running. She took a step back from the sink and nearly collapsed. She lowered herself to the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest. She did her best to stifle any noise but couldn’t contain her tears. They silently rolled down her cheeks as she wept. She had a madman in her home, near her child. He had just slaughtered someone and come to her to clean up. She was afraid of him, and oddly enough afraid _for_ him, the monster he has become. This wasn’t the man she knew Peter to be. She knew he was capable of great violence, but she never through to be party to it.

            She need to pick herself and clean up Peter’s mess. She didn’t need Stiles to wake up and see this, a bloodied Peter in their home, his mess. A drop of blood from Peter’s clothing rolled off the countertop and down the cabinet. She lifted her head up to the ceiling, closing her eyes to allow herself one last moment of sorrow before wiping her face.

            She put on rubber yellow dish gloves and set to work. She picked up the soiled clothing and deposited them in the cool sink. She let them soak while she cleaned the pools of blood on the counter and floor, as well as the stains on her walls and door.

**PARTY**

**UPSTAIRS BEDROOM**

            Scott, Malia, and Isaac joined Kira and Lydia in the bedroom upstairs. It wasn’t a very big room to begin with, and only got more cramped with their arrival. Malia handed Lydia her laptop when she walked in and it was enough to break Lydia out of her trance. She wasted no time in getting to work.

            She sat cross legged beside the record player that was still spinning. She kept her ear inclined to the player as to no miss a single word. The rest of the pack stood around the room or sat on the bed in silence and watched as she worked.

            Series of code and lines of data streamed across Lydia’s screen as she violently tapped the keys in search of what she needed. It didn’t take long for her to find the lines that asked for her password.

            “She’s got it,” Kira said, getting off the bed. The pack formed a semi-circle around Lydia as they watched her type, ever so slowly, the password into the computer: ‘ALLISON’

            “Allison…” Scott and Isaac both muttered, looking to one another.

Kira chose not to let the pained look in Scott’s face affect her. She turned to the screen and watched as the lines of codes decrypted into names with number denominations beside them. The list spanned several pages, one right after the other. Nearly all the names one or all of the pack recognized from around town or other neighboring areas. It wasn’t until they saw their names at the bottom of the list did they realize the lists’ significance.

            “Sean Walcott…” Scott said, pulling back from the screen. “Isn’t that-”

            “The Wendigo that killed his family.” Isaac finished for him. “Yeah, his name’s right above mine.”

            “What is this?” Malia asked, leaning in closer to the screen.

            “It’s a list of supernaturals in Beacon Hills…..” Lydia whispered. She hadn’t fully regained her voice yet from her ‘episode’. “It’s a Dead Pool.”

            And they were all on it.

           

 

           

 

 

           

 


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College sucks and midterms are upon us so I decided to dangle a tid-bit before I disappear into the black hole of procrastination catch up. ENJOY reading this as much as I did writing it.

**APARTMENT OF CLAUDIA COLE**

**FRIDAY NIGHT**

            Claudia had spent the past hour and a half cleaning up the blood Peter had tracked into her home. She’d let his clothes soak in the cool water before scrubbing them with cleaner. She put them in the dryer before heading into the bathroom. Peter had been in there a long while, going on two hours. Claudia was becoming concerned. What if he had in fact been wounded, that not all of the blood was his?

            The bathroom door was closed in her room. She put her ear to it, listening. She couldn’t hear anything. She knocked twice as she opened the door.

            “Peter?”

            Peter was alright. He was sitting up in the white, egg-shaped tub, water filled to the brim. There was foam in the tub and the smell of sweet jasmine and lavender wafted in the air. Claudia spotted her near half-empty apothecary jar of bath oil off to the side of the tub. What drew her attention was to what Peter held in his hands – in one, he gripped the bottle bourbon and the other he held a used pregnancy test. Claudia stopped dead in the doorway, eyes wide and weary.

            “Found this.” Peter’s voice was soft, almost sweet and forlorn. He didn’t look at her, just continued to stare at the little lines in front of him and let his mind run wild. “Didn’t find the box to go with it. Can’t exactly read it.” He held up to test as he put the bottle to his lips to take a long swig. He turned his head slightly to the mirror glimpse her in the doorway. “Are congratulations in order?”

           She looks at him in the mirror and softly shakes her head. She stepped further into the bathroom to crouch beside the tub. He handed the test to her.

           “And who might the lucky man have been?”

           She slowly reached out her hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind his ear. She left her hand on his cheek, lightly caressing with her thumb. “You, Peter.”

           Peter leaned into her hand, his eyes locking hers in with his passion, his love for her, and the wonder for a family that could be. He turned his head into her hand even more to catch her thumb between his teeth. He gently bites causing Claudia to quietly gasp.

           “Peter….”

           He ignored her. With his free hand, he held her by the nape of her neck, fisting and un-fisting her hair in his hand, massaging her neck while holding her immobile. “Hmm?”

           “Your clothes will be done soon. I’d like you to leave when they are.”

           He continued to massage her neck, staring at her lips. “Invite me to stay, Claudia.”

          He pulled Claudia closer to him. His breath was soft against her face as he slowly nipped along her jaw. He nuzzled behind her ear.

          “Peter,” Claudia whispered. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing under control.

          “Invite me to bed.” His voice was soft but urgent, his teeth grazing her outer ear.

            She opened her eyes, feeling the passion between them. She slowly leaned down and kissed him very gently at the corner of his mouth, murmuring, “Not tonight.”

            She pulled away from him, his hand dropped away from her neck silently. She got up and walked away from the tub.

          “Another night, then?” He called after her. He still held the bottle of bourbon in his hand, swirling it around in the bottle.

          Claudia paused at the door, hand on the frame. She glanced over her shoulder. She gave him no answer.


	16. Chapter 15

**BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

**SUNDAY AFTERNOON**

            The pack gathered in Stiles’ room, sitting or leaning on whatever they could in the small space. Naturally, the girls took the bed. Isaac plopped down in the spinning desk chair, slouched and spun casually. Scott sat on the floor, leaning back against the bed. Kira absentmindedly played with his hair. Derek, fashionably late coming from Peter’s apartment, leaned against the closed door with his arms crossed against his chest.

            “Alright,” Stiles carefully uncovered his trademark clear whiteboard from underneath an old sheet he found in the closet.

            On the desk beside him, he had numerous case files with photos, tape, string, and Expo markers in various colors. As he briefed the pack on their findings so far, he would add to the board.

           “The Walcott’s were the first - at least the first that we know of,” Stiles began. From the open file on his desk, he took out a happy family photo of the Walcott family and taped it in the top left corner of the board. Underneath, he taped in a line the four autopsy photos of the family in order – Mr., Mrs., then the two children. Underneath those, he hung selected crime scene photos from both the Walcott home and the Hospital, as well as a photo of the deputy Sean killed. In a neon orange Expo he wrote ‘W’ beside the family’s portrait.

           “Originally, we thought a Wendigo attacked the Walcott’s and in turn infected Sean. We didn’t know the professional assassin was involved-”

           “What are we calling him?” Isaac interrupted.

           “The professional assassin….” Stiles repeated, confused.

           “How ‘bout ‘The Mute’?” Isaac spread his hands in the air as he introduced the assassin’s title.

           Kira scrunched her nose. “Sounds like a superhero name.”

           Isaac spun in the chair to point at her. “Sounds like an assassin’s name.”

           “Sounds like children arguing over what to call a dead man.” Derek gruffly scolded. Isaac shrunk from Derek’s glare and spun around to pay attention to Stiles.

           “Like I said,” Stiles sighed, “we didn’t know how ‘The Mute’ was involved before, but taking a closer look at the autopsy report and crime scene photos, there are signs of axe trauma. Weapon of choice – military Tomahawk.”

          Stiles taped in green Peter’s police sketch of ‘The Mute’ to the right of the Walcott’s family portrait, in the top center of the board. He added photos of the assassin’s mangled corpse and his Tomahawk. In the neon orange Expo, Stiles drew a question mark. They were stumped when it came to classifying what exactly the ‘man’ was. He connected the Walcott family portrait to police sketch of ‘The Mute’ with red string. In Red Expo, Stiles wrote ‘K’.

           Stiles capped the Expo and turned to the pack.

           “New theory is that the Walcott’s were in fact Wendigos themselves.” He pointed to the neon orange ‘W’ he wrote earlier. “‘The Mute’ killed them, but Sean somehow survived. He ate his parents, unfortunately covering up signs of the attack, before stumbling into the hospital. Mom thinks the attack triggered Sean’s change and couldn’t help but… _finish_ a kill.”

           Stiles opened another file on his desk. He took out a photo and taped it in the top right corner of the board. It was Peter Hale’s most recent mug shot. He also added a photo of the Hale vault located underneath the high school. Stiles connected ‘The Mute’ to the Hale vault in yellow string before connecting Peter and ‘The Mute’ corpse in red string, writing above it in red Expo ‘K’.

          “’The Mute’ was then killed impulsively by everyone’s least favorite psychopath, Peter Hale, after trying to blow up Derek and my father with a claymore mine.”

           Underneath and in between ‘The Mute’ and Peter, Stiles hung two photos – the claymore mine and a photo of Deputy Parrish in the bomb squad protective gear. He connected ‘The Mute’ with yellow string to the bomb.

          “Next was Demarco Montana.”

          From a different file, Stile hung Demarco’s driver’s license photo underneath the Walcott family. Beside the license’s photo was the crime scene photo of Demarco’s decapitated corpse. A stark ‘before and after’ effect. He added an enlarged photo of the decapitation wound. In the neon orange Expo, Stiles wrote ‘W’.

          “He was the keg delivery guy at Isaac’s God awful freshman party?” Lydia asked, blatantly staring at Isaac.

         “Hey!” Isaac said defensively. “I didn’t know it would be _only_ freshmen.”

          “You were invited by insipid, horny freshmen girls. What else did you expect?”

          “Moving on!” Scott called. He stared at Isaac until he turned around.

          “Demarco was decapitated beside his delivery truck.” Stiles continued the briefing. “Scott found the body.”

           “Scent was unmistakable. He was defiantly a werewolf.” Scott tossed Stiles a foam wolf sticker the size of his fist. Stiles rolled his eyes, but obliged in putting it beside Demarco’s ‘W’ classification. “From what I got, I think he was part of a pack.”

           “If he was, they’ll be looking for him.” Malia said.

            Scott craned his neck up to look at her. “Sheriff’s got feelers out for anyone that could potentially be in his pack.”

            Stiles sighed, scratching his forehead with his thumb. He opened another case file. “And then last night while Scott and I were with the Sheriff….”

            Stiles hung up a pretty woman’s driver’s license photo underneath Demarco’s photos. She was blonde, green eyed, and smiling to show off perfect white teeth. Underneath, he placed photos of a gruesome and erratic crime scene – a severed left hand found in the grass in front of Beacon Hills High School sign, blood smears on a school bus, a blood trail leading out to the parking lot where her mutilated corpse was found. Stiles placed a magnified photo of the girl’s severed hand wound. It was cauterized and burned clean like Demarco’s decapitation. Beside it, he hung a photo of her fatal wound – a silver knife in the heart.

           “Twenty-three year old Carrie Hudson.”

           “While this was happening, Stiles and I filled in the Sheriff about the partial deadpool Lydia cracked.”

            Underneath ‘The Mute’s photos in the center of the board, Stiles hung the partial deadpool list. He connected the six murder victims’ photos to their name on the list with yellow string. In the exact center of the board, Stiles drew a large question mark in blue Expo, writing ‘Benefactor’ underneath it.

            “And I’m still working on decoding the remaining parts,” Lydia added.

           “How’d he take it?” Kira asked about the Sheriff. “It’s not every day there’s a hit list of the supernatural creatures in your town.”

           “He wasn’t too happy our names were on it. Unhappier still he recognized a few he didn’t know were…different.”

           “Do we know the significance of Allison’s name being the cypher key?” Derek asked as Stiles wrote in blue Expo underneath the list ‘ALLISON?’.

           Lydia shook her head. “Not yet. That…I have no idea where to start with that.”

           “We know there are two other cypher keys that will give us the rest of the names.” Kira said cheerfully. Her face fell, adding the next part, “Trouble is with finding them.”

           “I’ve been sneaking into the lake house the party was thrown in, but I haven’t had any luck. It’s just static now.” Lydia shook her head again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get any more from there.”

           “Two remaining names that aren’t apart of our pack,” Isaac pointed out, waving his finger at the deadpool. “Kayleen Bettcher and Ellias Town.”

           Both of the names had the numerical ‘250’ notation beside them.

           “Don’t know if they’re werewolves, were-creatures, or whatever the hell else is out there.” Scott said, shrugging. “Either they come forward, we find their bodies, or we reach out. Not much more we can do.”

          “Deaton said that the Nemeton would draw various supernatural creatures of Beacon Hills, right?” Lydia asked. “They could also be from out of town.”

          “For once, the town lives up to its name.” Isaac grumbled.

          “Yeah, I always thought it weird we didn’t have a lighthouse or something-” Malia was cut off by Derek’s glare. “Sorry…”

           Stiles continued. “Dad brought up a good point last night. Does Beacon Hills mean the town _or_ Beacon County? That’s between thirty thousand in town and five hundred thousand in the county to narrow down the list of possible suspects and targets.”

          “Something else we should figure out.” Scott said.

          “Does the Vet. know the Nemeton’s range of influence?” Malia asked.

          “Nope.” Stiles shook his head. “And there probably isn’t a way to tell. Mom is looking for some spell casting, potion making way, but she’s not hopeful.”

          “There’s also something else we should figure out,” Isaac said, “the chance the next list might not be twelve names, but fifty. A hundred? The handful of us, and maybe a clueless Sheriff’s department, can’t protect that many that may or may not be targeted at any given time.”

          Scott pulled out his phone. “I’ve tried contacting Mr. Argent but I’ve had no luck there. _If_ he gets back to me in time, then maybe he’ll be able to provide reinforcements.”

         “Dude, that’s like inviting wolves into the hen house.” Malia said. “Black-and-white view of the world hunters? They’ll probably treat the deadpool like a shopping list.”

         “’A good supernatural creature is a dead supernatural creature’.” Isaac quoted Chris Argent’s deranged father.

         “So could a hunter be behind the deadpool?” Kira asked, looking around the pack. “Be the one calling for the murders?”

        “We’re forgetting about something.” Derek pushed off the door frame and walked to the board. He tapped the photo of his family’s vault. “$117 million was stolen from my family’s vault. ‘The Mute’ was behind it; and if ‘The Mute’ was working for the ‘Benefactor’, then it stands to reason the ‘Benefactor’ is financing these murders with my family’s money.”

         Derek picked up a pen from Stiles’ desk and wrote a ‘K’ beside the numerical numbers next to the names of the murder victims and the unknown two others. Beside the names of Scott’s pack, he put ‘M’. It was eerily nice to know they were worth more. He walked back over to the door.

         “That would make these prices.” Stiles concluded, staring at the list.

          He began writing the total amount the murders fetched so far at the bottom left of the board. The Walcott family totaled $1 million, $250 thousand for Demarco, $500 thousand for Carrie…$1,750,000 was worth the lives of six people. There was still $66,500,000 left to collect from this list - $66 million from Lydia, Scott, Derek and Kira, and $500 thousand from the unknown Bettcher and Town.

          “And it would limit the size of the hit-list from hundreds to handfuls.” Lydia agreed.

          “The price of _all_ the hits on the deadpool equals up to $117 million.” Kira added.

          “Let me get this straight….” Isaac gently spun from foot to foot in the desk chair as he recapped. “Coded list goes out and these professional assassins get that list _and_ the cypher key and then they go after the names on the list.”

          “They being killers with no mouths, Tomahawks, thermal cut wires-” Lydia droned on.

          “How did the new assassin know that Demarco was going to be at the lake house?” Kira asked.

          “It’s not secret he delivers kegs to underage kids for a little extra cash,” Derek said. “Been doing it for years.”

          “So whoever ordered that keg….killed Demarco.” Stiles tapped the Expo marker on the palm of his hand.

          “Tell your dad,” Scott said. Stiles nodded and pulled out his phone. “He’ll be able to get the records faster.”

          “That means it was someone at the party,” Isaac said, looking around to the pack. “A freshman.”

 


	17. Chapter 16

**McCALL FAMILY HOME**

**LIVING ROOM**

               Melissa McCall was laying back on the couch, flipping through the stack of missing person’s flyers John brought with him from the station. His name was Ted Hicks; werewolf from what the pack has been able to dig up. By the time Sheriff John Stilinski tracked him down, to warn him about the Dead pool, Hicks was already missing. He collected a couple flyers from the family to give to the pack.

               John walked in, dressed in casual civilian clothes with a tan tool belt around his waist. He moved the fireplace screen away from the fireplace and got on his hands and knees to look inside with his flashlight.

               “Uh... well I think I see... yep. There’s definitely something here.”

               “Definitely,” Melissa said more to herself than John.

               Isaac shuffled in from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal and makes his way around the fireplace screen to the armchair while saying, “Santa, you’ve changed.”

               Melissa heard a chuckle from the fireplace but still gave Isaac a sly, but disapproving smile. “The Sheriff was kind enough to step in as handyman on his day off.”

               “No reason you should be paying someone to half-fix and overcharge,” John’s voice echoed through the chimney.

               John got up from the fireplace with a dead, soot covered bird on his brush. He quickly bagged the dead bird and tied it tight.

               “You know, we haven’t tried the animal shelter yet.” Isaac quipped.

               “You’re hilarious,” John shook his head. Melissa stood up and handed John a glass of water from the coffee table. He wiped his face of sweat but accidently smeared a small amount of soot on it. He turned to Isaac. “Any luck on your end?”

               He shook his head, mouthful of soggy cereal. “Nothing’s popping for us, and Lydia hasn’t been screaming either. I guess that’s a good sign he’s still alive?”

               “Our one shinning beacon of hope,” Melissa murmured. She looked down mournfully at the missing flyers in her hands.

               “Well, we’ve canvased his usual areas, but no one has seen him in over a week. I’m in touch with surrounding counties.”

               “Anyway...Uh, thanks for fixing the fireplace. I’m sure you must be hungry after all that work.”

               “All what work?” John glanced behind him at the fireplace. All he did was clear the shoot and rescue a dead animal. “Sure, Mell. Let me put these flyers in the car first and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

               He took a step forward towards Melissa and he bumped into the fireplace screen.

               “Oh careful,” Melissa said, instinctively jutting out her hand. “You all right?”

               “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll just...” He put the fireplace screen back.

               “Antique. Grandma’s.”

               Isaac watched Melissa watch John leave, flyers in hand.

               “Finest ass in the city,” Melissa said murmured.

               “In the land,” Isaac pitched in dreamily. Melissa turned to him and he smiled, milk dribbling down his chin.

**KITCHEN**

               Melissa took a cinnamon roll out of the microwave and put it on a plate. She then poured a glass of cool milk. John was in the foyer on a ladder, staining the original trimmings. He put his rag down and wiped his hands on his jeans when he saw Melissa walking over with the cinnamon and milk.

               “Here you go John. Hope you like whole milk, because that’s the only kind the boys drink.”

               “Right. Thanks.” John reached down so Melissa wouldn’t have to lift them that far. He set the plate atop the ladder.

               “Just don’t call me mom.”

               Isaac and Scott were coming down the stairs, talking loudly causing Melissa and John to turn and look.

               “Trust me,” Isaac was encouraging Scott. “One hot night is all you guys need to get back on track.”

               “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

               “Kira’s a virgin. You’re not. No-”

               “Ahem.” Melissa cleared her throat, cocking her head to the side.

               The boys stopped at the base of the stairs. Scott was mortified that not only the Sheriff heard them, but his mother did too. Isaac silently muttered,

               “Problem….”

               “Hey, Sheriff….H-How’s it going?” Scott awkwardly stuttered.   

               “Good,” John was trying to hide his smile. “Uh, this wall only needs two coats and then I gotta do the molding and then I’m done.”

               Avoiding the tangible tension, John drank some milk, looking anywhere but the family situation below. When he brought his glass back down, he had a milk moustache on his face.

               “Oh. John. Come here.” Melissa stood up on her toes to reach John’s face as he leaned down, curious as to what she needed. Melissa held up her hand and gently wiped the milk off his face. She smiled. “Got milk?”

               They both chuckled.

               Seeing what was going on, Scott grabbed Isaac’s arm and yanked his towards the kitchen. Safely away from whatever it was happening between Stiles’ dad and his mom, Scott whispered, “I think she likes the Sheriff.”

               “What’s not to like? He’s a great guy.”

               “No. I mean... really likes him.”

               “Your point being?

               Scott rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. But, um, just remember, I get the house tonight. Just Kira and me.”

**FOYER – LATER THAT EVENING**

               Melissa looked into the foyer from the dining room and saw John sanding down the molding. She took a minute to pretty herself up in the mirror before going over to him.

               “About done for the day?”

               “Just about.”

               “Uh...well, Scott’s got a date so we kinda gotta clear out. I was thinking about catching a movie. Wanna go?

               John shook his head and walked to another corner of the room. “I can’t do it.”

               “Okay.” Melissa sounded dejected. How was it supposed to go, anyway? Their kids are best friends and co-captains of a supernatural pack of teenagers, he occasionally works with her hot headed ex-husband, and his late wife has come back from the dead.

               “You know...these are original to the house.” John patted the trimmings of a walkway. “I mean, they really should be sanded down, finished off with steal wool, and... and re-stained. Not covered in paint.”

               “Oh, right,” Melissa awkwardly chuckled.

               “Anyway uh...I can pick up some stain samples on my lunch break tomorrow if you’re interested. I can bring them by after work?”

               “Or better yet, why don’t you just bring them by the hospital?”

               “Okay.” John nodded.

               “Okay,” Melissa echoed.

               “So,” a smile tugged at the corner of John’s mouth, “what time’s that movie?”

               The doorbell rang behind them and heavy footsteps soon followed above them. Isaac yelled as he galloped down the stairs, “I got it!”

               Isaac jumped the last couple of steps and slid on the hardwood with his socks to the door. He opened it and a middle-aged pizza delivery man stood miserable on the other side. Isaac payed the man and snatched the pizza.

               “Thank God. I’m starving.” He kicked the door closed behind him and he turned. “I can’t even believe they didn’t have sausage. Had to settle with pepperoni.”

               He happily hustled into the living room, dropping the box box on the coffee table and throwing himself down into the armchair. Melissa entered after him.

               “Isaac, I though you went out?”

               “Nah. Decided to stay in and order out.” He opened the box and offered John a slice. “Want some?”

               “Sure.” He took the slice, but receive a glance from Melissa as he put it into his mouth.

               She turned from John to Isaac. “Scott and Kira have the house for a couple hours. That means–“

               “Means I have to find another place to eat my pizza.” Isaac sighed, completely having forgotten about Scott’s date. He glanced up at the Sheriff. “Where’s Stiles?”

               “Derek’s.” John turned to Melissa, half-hiding the pizza behind him. “Let me, uh, clean up before the movie. I’ll be right back.”

               “Movie? What movie? Mind if I tag along?” Isaac was going to say more, but he received a disapproving look from Mel over John’s shoulder as he left. He quickly backed down and cowered closer to his pizza. “Never mind. I’m good with the pizza.”

               Scott and Kira came in from the kitchen. Scott wasn’t too happy to see his brother and mother still home and with a fresh box of pizza between them.

               “Hey. I thought we all had plans tonight?” Scott asked passive aggressively.

**JOHN’S CAR**

              The movie had ended and the pair were starving. John was driving and Melissa was giving directions from the passenger seat. She had him pull up to a drive-thru window of the Taco Barn.               

              “Oh, this place, hands down, the best tacos on the West Coast.” Melissa smiled. “You're gonna be very happy.”               

              “Good to know,” John muttered, hiding his grimace. He really hated fast-food-Mexican.               

              “Welcome to Taco Barn,” an employee said through the billboard menu’s speaker. “May I take your order?”               

              “Hi.” Melissa pulled at her seat belt and leaned closer to the speaker, and John, so that she wouldn’t have to yell. “Um, two tacos, an order of taquitos, a beef burrito with no onions, and, uh, don't bother bagging it, that'll just slow us down.”

               She pulled back and tapped John’s arm. “Go ahead.”

               “Uh, nothing for me.” John shook his head, smiling.                 

               “What?”               

               “Nothing, thanks.”               

               “You said you were starving.”              

              “Yeah, I'm just not big on Mexican food, especially if it’s fast.”               

              “Trust me, this stuff bears no resemblance to Mexican food.”               

              “Its okay, Mell,” John chuckled at her concern. “I'm good.”               

              “Okay. Well, I'm not gonna eat if you're not gonna eat.”               

              “What is this, junior high?”                

              “No, no, I just, um. . .I don't wanna sit in your car and eat by myself.”               

              “Why?”               

              “Because it's sad and not fun.”               

               “Please, come on, just get the food.”               

                “No, no, let's go.”               

                “No, the tacos. You love the tacos.”               

                “I'm not hungry.”               

               “You are, too, hungry.”               

               “Forget it.” Melissa waved her hand. “Let's go.”               

               “Okay,” John sighed. “I'm going.”

 **SUPERMARKET**               

               Melissa and John walk in. It’s a little past nine and the store was winding down. Melissa walked to the buggies and picked up two black handbaskets. She handed one to John.               

               “I told you to get the tacos.”               

               “Let's not do this again, okay? I just need to eat something.”               

              “This is a supermarket….”               

              “I'm gonna throw my purse at you.” Melissa laughed despite her oncoming hunger headache.               

               “You have to cook anything you buy here,” John continued to playfully mock her ‘restaurant’ choice.               

               “John, come on. There are a million things here. There's cheese and fruit and chips and a whole prepared-food section.” She walked over to the salad bar and waved her arm like Vanna White. “Do you want to start with the salad?”               

                “Okay.”               

                While she was grabbing two packaged salads, out of the corner of her eye she saw John put something in his basket from the hygiene isle. As far as she knew, you couldn’t eat anything in an isle of personal care.

               “What did you just do?”               

                “I need razors.”               

                “No, no,” She pointed at his basket and shook her head. “This is an errand.”               

                “So?”               

                “So we're looking for food and you're running errands.”               

               “I'm a busy man. I don't have time to do these things. We're in a store, they're right there.” He smiled and held up his razor blades. “Now I don't have to go tomorrow. Instead, I can spend my lunchbreak getting you your stain samples.”               

                “Y-You're not supposed to be thinking about the things you need.” She tried to act stern while biting back a smile. She gave in, spotting something she needed. “Oh, shoot, I'm out of toothpaste.”               

                 “Grab it,” John picked up the one she pointed to and tossed it into her basket. He walked past her, looking up at the isle markers.               

                “Where are you going?”               

                “I need hand soap.”               

                 “Not edible, but all right. I'll grab some paper towels and I’ll meet you in the prepared-food section.”               

                 “Fine. Uh, which way is detergent?” He gave her a cheeky smile, just screwing with her at this point.               

                She shook her head and they went off to separate isles. She’s picked up paper towels and cups when she heard John call out to her,               

               “Hey, you need peas? 'Cause there's two for one.”               

               “Uh, no…I'm good...” Baffled she shook her head.               

              “I'm getting you a couple anyhow.”               

               “Where are you?”               

              “Jell-o and tiny cocktail wieners.”               

                “I'm one aisle over.”               

                “I'll be right there.” John walked up her aisle behind her. “I gotta tell you, the advice about not shopping hungry couldn't be truer.”

               Melissa couldn’t help but laugh out loud by the weighed down basket John was struggling to carry with one hand. “Good Lord, that's a lot of food.”               

               “Well, it's not all just food.”               

              “So you won't eat fast food,” She picked up a package of fluffy pick balls, “but Snow Balls are okay?”               

              “I've never eaten them. I was curious.” John said innocently enough.               

              “Snow Balls. Pink marshmallow coconut balls.”               

              “You wouldn't be curious about pink marshmallow coconut balls?”

               “Like who makes these? How did the decision to dye the coconut pink occur? Why are they shaped like a chest? Is there any dessert on the fact of the planet that could stimulate this much debate?”               

               John shakes his head smiling. “What are you looking for?”               

              “Well,” Melissa picked up a tall can of Pringles Sour Cream and Onion chips. “They usually have the mini size.”               

              “Get the big one then.”               

              “I grab them on the way out of the house and this won't fit in my purse.”               

               “Well, they must have them.” When John couldn’t find them on the isle, he spotted an employee stocking peanuts further down. He set his basket down near Melissa. “Hold on.”               

               “Where are you going?”               

               “Just watch my Sno Balls, please.”               

               “Not on the first date, mister,” She muttered to herself. She watched John talk to the guy stacking peanuts. Before long they shook hands and John was walking back over to Melissa.               

               “Let's go.” John picked up his basket and absentmindedly grabbed her hand.               

               “Where?”               

               “Just come here.”

               They followed peanut guy into the back storage room, forklifts with saran wrapped crates and other containers stacked on wooden pallets surrounding them.                “Ten minutes,” the guy reminded John before leaving.               

                 “That's all we need.”               

                “What are we doing here?” Melissa asked, astounded. “How did you get the guy to let us in the back room?”

                “Talking people into doing things that they don't wanna do happens to be my specialty” He started walking down the section peanut guy told him. “We're looking for your chips.”               

                “Seriously?”               

                “Well, this is where they keep the goods. What were the chips you like?”               

                “Sour cream and onion.”               

                 A couple palates down he found the saran-wrapped boxes of Pringles. The green containers here towards the top. “Ah, got 'em.”               

               “Oh, it's just like heaven.” Melissa smiled.               

               “Here.” John took out his pocket knife, opening and handing it to Melissa. “Wanna do the honors?”               

               “Ooh, I feel so powerful.”               

               “Well, you're holding a knife. Being armed does that to people.” John chuckled. He watched at Melissa happily stab through the wrapping and tare open a gap beg enough to grab five small cans.

               “Wow, Cap'n Crunch.” John said, walking over to another palate. “I lived on Cap'n Crunch in the Army.”               

              “Cut him.” Melissa handed John his knife back with a gleam in her eyes.               

              “Cut Cap'n Crunch? That seems a bit severe.”               

              “Trust me, he's got it coming.”               

              “Okay, I just hope Jamal doesn't get busted for this.” With another look at Melissa, he stabbed into the plastic wrap and yanked down. The wrapping tore open and orange boxes of Capn’ Crunch Peanut Butter and Chocolate flavored tumbled to the floor. Melissa and John backed away laughing.

 **CUT TO OUTSIDE**               

                John and Melissa are sitting at a table in front of the supermarket eating the food they just bought, spread out nicely in front of them as if they were at a real restaurant.               

               “Mac and cheese?” Melissa offered the plastic bowl to John.               

               “Mhmm. Yes, please.” John forked a good portion onto his plate and set the container back on the table. “You know, I must say, this is a pretty nice spread we put together here.”               

               “A little ingenuity, my friend.”               

               “It's too bad they stop selling alcohol after 9:30. I mean, not that I need to be drunk to have dinner with you.” Quickly backing out of his sweet sentiment, he stood up and gestured to the closing store. “Okay, I'm gonna go for the giant egg rolls. Do you want one?”               

               “Yes, please, and don't forget the hot mustard!”               

                John walked away leaving Melissa smiling at the table.

**BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL**

**NURSE’S STATION**

               John, in uniform, walked over to the nurses station and asked after Nurse McCall. He didn’t have to wait long because she was walking up behind him chatting with another nurse.

               “Table for one sir?” Melissa asked John, handing her patient’s file to Sheri behind the desk.

               “Stain samples as promised.” John smiled, handing them to Melissa. “I only brought the ones authentic to the era in which the house was built. A coat or two more and we’ll be done.”

               “Great.” She smiles back at John and pockets the sampled. “Hungry? It’s on the house.”

               “You’re big on food, aren’t you?” John asked, pushing off the station. Melissa walked alongside him to the elevators.

               “More like the company.”


End file.
